Harry Potter and the Slytherin Selection
by DrizzleWizzle
Summary: (1/7) At Madam Malkin's, Harry Potter introduces himself to Draco Malfoy. Draco offers to help Harry navigate the bizarre, new wizarding world, and Harry accepts. While Harry finds magic to be strange and amazing, there is no class to teach Harry about the complexities of friendship and social life in Slytherin... AU, Slytherin!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

Harry's robes hung awkwardly off his shoulders. Madam Malkin bustled around him, tugging and pulling at the robes. A piece of chalk floated through the air, following her hands and marking the robes for alterations.

To Harry's left was a boy with blonde hair who looked to be about Harry's age. Another witch was measuring the blonde boy.

"What are you looking at?"

Harry jumped, realizing that he had been staring at the boy. "Nothing! I mean, your robes. Yours look really good. I'm not used to wearing them."

The other boy was tall and rather thin, with a sharp nose and piercing eyes. His clothes already fit him perfectly, but he was still being fitted for several sets of new robes. Most of the new robes had green trim.

The blonde boy turned away and lifted his nose. Embarrassed, Harry looked down at the ground.

Madam Malkin stepped away from Harry. "Finished. We'll have these owled to you when the alterations are done. What's your name?"

"Harry Potter."

Madam Malkin shot a glance at Harry out of the corner of her eye. "Be serious, or the owl won't be able to deliver your robes."

"Er… I am serious." Harry nervously ran a hand through his hair. Before he could smooth it back down, Madam Malkin leaned in and looked at his forehead.

"Well," she said, "Harry Potter it is. Robes should be ready in about a week."

Harry turned to leave the store. Before he could exit, the blond boy spoke again.

"You're really Harry Potter? That's cool. I'm Draco Malfoy." Draco stuck out a hand, and Harry shook it. "Getting your robes for Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Are all your robes for school?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders. "My father wanted me to have several. He's always going on about being well dressed. 'Draco, if you are going to _be_ better than everybody, you must also _look_ better than everybody.'" Draco laughed. "Are you done shopping?"

Harry shook his head. "It's taking me a long time. Everything is so strange. I just met a goblin at Gringott's—a _goblin_!"

"Come off it. Goblins are always at Gringott's. They own the place."

"It's the first time I was ever there, though," Harry said. "I've never done any of this stuff. I mean, I only found out I was a wizard a few days ago."

"You can't be serious."

Harry hung his head, embarrassed. "My Aunt and Uncle never told me."

Draco looked back at the mirror. "Don't worry. Plenty of first years at Hogwarts have never done wandwork at home." Draco rolled his eyes. "All destined to be Hufflepuffs, of course."

Draco laughed, and Harry laughed with him. Laughing with somebody felt nice, even though Harry didn't understand the joke. For Harry, recognizing that he wasn't the target was enough.

"But you're Harry Potter," Draco said. "There's no way you'll wind up in Hufflepuff."

Again, Harry wondered what that meant.

The blonde boy continued, "If you're new to the wizarding world, you'll need somebody to introduce you to the right sorts. Good people, you know what I mean. I can help you with that."

Harry smiled. "Really?

"Sure," Draco said, "It would be a pleasure."

At that moment, the door of the store burst open. Hagrid bent down and stuck his shoulders through the doorway.

"There yeh are, Harry. We oughter get goin'. Plenty to buy, yet."

Harry waved at Draco. "I'll see you at school, I guess."

Draco waved back. "Look for me on the Hogwarts Express."

*!*!*!*!*!*!

Harry looked to his left. Platform 9: check. Harry looked to his right. Platform 10: check.

Platform 9 and ¾: No Check. Not hardly.

"There he is, Dad. Harry! Over here!"

"Don't shout, Draco."

Harry turned and saw Draco waving at him. Standing behind him were his parents.

Draco's father was a tall, intimidating man with the same platinum hair as Draco. Draco's whip-thin build clearly came from his harshly beautiful mother. The family looked obviously out of place in the train station.

"Draco, hi!" Harry walked over and shook Draco's hand.

Draco gestured to his mother. "Harry, I'm pleased to introduce my mother, Narcissa Malfoy." Harry shook her hand and she gave a small smile.

Draco turned to his father. "This is my father, Lucius Malfoy."

Lucius stiffly shook Harry's hand, maintaining ramrod straight posture. Only his eyes looked down at Harry.

"Harry Potter. I never thought I would see the day." Lucius' voice was much deeper than Draco's, but both father and son spoke with the same drawl.

"It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Are you ready for the Express?" Draco asked.

"If I could find it," Harry said. "What's 9 and ¾ supposed to mean, anyway?"

Lucius's eyes widened, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "And I thought my son had been exaggerating. Raised by muggles, indeed." Lucius tapped the tip of his cane on Harry's trunk. "Come along, we will show you to the platform."

Lucius and Narcissa walked to a nearby pillar, and, without stopping, stepped directly through the bricks.

Harry was flabbergasted. "That's amazing!"

Draco smiled and walked quickly through the pillar, pulling his suitcase behind him. Harry followed.

Harry found himself in the middle of barely controlled chaos. At the center of the ruckus was a beautiful steam engine, with large and elegant passenger compartments. Harry could glimpse a few spells being cast in the crowd, mostly levitating luggage. Nearly everybody wore robes.

"Brilliant," Harry whispered.

Lucius looked at the bedlam disdainfully. "All this? Hardly." His expression softened slightly. "Although, for a child raised by muggles, I suppose it is."

Draco laughed. "Can't wait to see you cast your first spell. Come on, let's go get a compartment!"

Inside the train, Harry found himself completely overwhelmed. He was thankful that he had Draco to follow; without a guide, he would have been totally hopeless.

"In here," Draco said, stepping into a compartment. "I told my friends Vince and Greg to meet us on the train, but I wouldn't be surprised if they get lost."

"Lost? It's a train. There's only one hallway."

Draco laughed and flopped down on a seat. "Vince and Greg aren't the smartest owls in the flock. Good guys, good for a laugh, but they'd never make Ravenclaw." Draco laughed, and Harry laughed with him. After Madame Malkin's, Hagrid had told Harry a little bit about the Hogwarts houses, so Harry was finally beginning to understand Draco's references.

The compartment door opened again. A slim girl with bobbed black hair and an upturned nose stepped into the compartment. "Draco, hello. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

Draco waved a hand in the air. "Come on in, Pansy."

The girl pulled her trunk in behind her. It took Draco and Harry lifting together to place the trunk on the rack above their seats.

"What do you have in there?" asked Draco. "That weighs more than a troll."

"Just some basics," Pansy said. "I wanted to bring more, by my mother told me that I was only allowed to bring necessities."

Harry was astonished. "That's just the necessities? How many trunks would it have taken to pack everything you wanted?"

Pansy gave him a nasty look. "Who is this vulgar boy, Draco?"

"Sorry! Pansy Parkinson, let me introduce… Harry Potter."

Pansy's eyes went wide. She started to squeal, a noise that began high and went higher, almost to the point of being outside human hearing, before ultimately turning into words. "OhmygoodnessHarryPotterIcan'tbelieveitI'msorryIwasmeanit'snicetomeetyou!"

Harry glanced over at Draco. It was clear that Draco had purposefully "forgotten" to introduce Harry and Pansy immediately, and was playing the moment for drama.

"Er, hi," said Harry. "It's good to meet you, too."

Pansy sat down across from Harry, literally bouncing on the edge of her seat. "Where'd you find him, Draco?"

"Madame Malkin's. He and I were getting fitted for robes together. I could clearly see that he was the right sort, so I struck up a conversation."

"Right," said Harry, remembering it somewhat differently. He was also rather uncomfortable with Pansy treating him like an object.

"I can't wait to tell my mother and father," said Pansy. "Harry Potter, right here in my compartment!"

"It isn't that big a deal," said Harry. Desperate to distract Pansy, he asked her the only thing he knew about Hogwarts. "So, what House do you want to be sorted into?"

Pansy's mood changed as if a switch had been flipped. "Slytherin, of course. As if any other choice would be acceptable." Pansy turned to Draco. "Was he raised by Muggles?"

"Actually, yes," said Draco.

Pansy spun to Harry. "No!"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"Oh, was it horrible? Were they awful beasts?"

"How do you know my Aunt and Uncle?" Harry said, cracking a smile.

Pansy laughed. "I heard that Muggles don't even use owls to send mail—they make another Muggle do it. Is it true?"

Harry nodded. "They call him the postman. He comes once a day with your mail. Not that I ever got any."

"That's barbaric!" Pansy said. "What a menial task!"

The compartment door opened again. Harry looked over, expecting to see a pair of boys, ostensibly Vince and Greg. Instead, he saw a short girl with large teeth and the messiest hair imaginable.

"Has anybody here seen a toad? Neville's lost his."

Draco made a noise in his throat. "Longbottom. There's a hopeless case if there ever was one." Pansy laughed.

Harry was the only one to give a serious answer. "No toads in here. Sorry."

The girl flashed him a quick smile. "Thanks, anyway." She closed the compartment door and was gone.

*!*!*!*!*!*!

"Potter, Harry!"

Harry stood and walked to the front of the Great Hall. Whispers travelled quickly and students turned to watch as he passed. The only faces he recognized were those of Draco and Pansy, already sorted into Slytherin. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, who never did make it to the compartment, had also been sorted into Slytherin and were sitting at the same table.

Harry sat down on the stool at the front of the hall. He fidgeted, obviously nervous. Professor McGonnegal, the head of Gryffindor house, smiled at Harry as she handed him the hat.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter. The Sorting Hat will put you where you belong."

Harry placed the Sorting Hat on Harry's head. The floppy, oversized hat immediately fell down over Harry's eyes. A voice began speaking to Harry-the voice of the hat, Harry quickly realized.

"Hmm… difficult, very difficult. You're quite the interesting case, aren't you, Harry Potter? Where should I sort you? So much to consider."

Harry thought of Draco, the only magical person he really knew. Draco was in Slytherin.

The voice spoke again. "Slytherin, eh? Slytherin could make you great…"

This intrigued Harry. He had never been great at anything.

"…there's no doubt that Slytherin could make you great. But if it's friends you want, Hufflepuff is the place for you."

Harry remembered Draco's contempt for Hufflepuff house in the robe shop. He hadn't understood at the time, and he still didn't completely understand, but he didn't want to lose his friend. _Not Hufflepuff_, Harry thought_. I've never had lots of friends—I don't need lots of friends. Please, let me keep just one._

"Not Hufflepuff, then. It takes plenty of courage, though, for a muggle-raised student to choose his own house, especially if that house is Slytherin. If you have the courage to make such a choice, perhaps I should simply sort you into Gryffindor."

Harry had seen the Gryffindors and Slytherins booing each other during the sorting. _He'd hate me if I were in Gryffindor_, Harry thought._ I'd do anything to be in Slytherin. I'd do ANYTHING._

There was a long silence before the hat spoke again.

"That promise should not be made lightly, Harry Potter. A wizard who is willing to do _anything_ to get what he wants… that wizard is very dangerous. It has been a long while since Hogwarts has seen such a wizard, and he was indeed sorted into Slytherin. Are you dangerous, Harry Potter?"

Harry paused, but only for a moment. _Slytherin_.

"Very well. If you are willing to do anything, then you are willing to owe me a favor. My wants are few, but they are great. In exchange for a favor, I will send you to SLYTHERIN!"

Harry removed the hat from his head. As with all the other students, the Sorting Hat had shouted Harry's house for the entire hall to hear. Unlike the other students, however, Harry's sorting was greeted with almost complete silence. Distantly, Harry could hear two sets of hands clapping, and one small cheer: Draco and Pansy.

Harry looked up at Professor McGonnegal. She seemed to draw back slightly, but reached out and took the Sorting Hat from Harry's hands. As Harry began to walk toward his new housemates, the Slytherin table finally reacted, exploding in cheers and applause. The other three tables remained absolutely silent.

The house tables had applauded for every new student they received, but it was obvious that Slytherin was cheering louder and harder for Harry. Being accepted was unfamiliar to Harry, but being _wanted_ was even more foreign. He had certainly never been cheered for in his life. As Harry settled down in the seat next to Draco, he felt for the first time in his life like he belonged.

After the sorting had finished (Zabini, Blaise: Slytherin!) and a most peculiar introductory speech by Headmaster Dumbledore ("Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!") Harry and his housemates were treated to a delicious opening feast. Harry had never been given access to so much food so freely. He found himself in an unofficial competition with Crabbe and Goyle to see who could eat the most food.

As the meal wound down, Harry began scrutinizing the Great Hall and its occupants. At the teacher's table he was able to identify Headmaster Dumbledore, who seemed a bit batty; Professor McGonnegal, who reacted so poorly to Harry's sorting; and Professor Quirrell, who Harry recognized from their meeting in Diagon Alley. Speaking to the turbaned Professor Quirrell was a hook-nosed man in black robes. Quirrell and the hook-nosed man looked up at Harry, and Harry felt a sharp pain shoot through his head.

"Ssst," Harry hissed in pain, raising a hand to his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Draco asked.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Headache. Who's that sitting next to Professor Quirrell?"

"That's Professor Snape, our head of house. He's the potions master here at Hogwarts."

Harry looked back to the teacher's table. Quirrell had turned and begun speaking to Dumbledore, but Snape was still looking at Harry, regarding him with a cool and calculating gaze.

After dinner, Harry and the other first year Slytherins were taken back to their common room by the Slytherin prefects. The Slytherin common room was located in the dungeons, and was lit by a cool green-blue light. ("It's under the lake, partly," Draco told him.)

Harry and the other first years stood in a crowd in the common room. Severus Snape loomed in front of them. He spoke with a peculiar cadence, clipping the ends of some words while extending others. His pronunciation was impeccable.

"Welcome to Slytherin, your home for the next seven years. In Slytherin, we value cunning, subtlety, and ambition. Together, these qualities will lead you to greatness and power." Snape paused.

"Tell me, in one word, each of you. What is power? What is greatness?" Snape made eye contact with Vincent Crabbe. "You, what is power?"

"Fear," said Crabbe.

Snape looked at Gregory Goyle next. "You."

"Muscles," said Goyle.

Snape continued looking at each student in turn, and each student gave an answer. Harry began thinking furiously. What was power?

"Money," said a tall, black boy—Zabini.

"Blood," said Draco.

"Numbers," said a large, plain looking girl.

Harry had certainly been beaten up by Dudley and his friends enough to know that numbers and muscles and fear were powerful, but Harry had the nagging sensation that there was something else, some better answer.

"Knowledge," said a dark haired girl with pale skin and ice blue eyes.

"Respect." A boy with wide shoulders.

"Influence." A small, blonde girl. Her voice was focused and intense.

"Fame." That was Pansy. After speaking, she glanced at Harry, then quickly looked away.

Snape had left Harry for last. "Mr. Potter. What is power? Do you agree with Ms. Parkinson? Is it… fame?" As Snape finished speaking, his lip curled slightly, then settled into an expressionless mask.

Harry still wasn't sure of the right answer. He wasn't sure if there _was_ a right answer. But, at the very least, he knew that there was a power greater than muscles or fear or numbers. Dudley had all those things, but Harry had still chased him out of the zoo, and Hagrid had made Dudley look like a fool with a pig's tail.

"Magic," said Harry. "Magic is power."

Snape considered Harry for a moment with the same cool gaze he had used in the Great Hall. Harry felt sweat break out on his forehead. Professor Snape was intimidating, and Harry didn't want to start out on Snape's bad side.

Finally, Snape nodded. "Power comes in many forms. One of the most basic forms of power is drawn from numbers, as Ms. Bullistrode noted. One drop of water is a pittance. One million drops is a thunderstorm."

Snape held his arms open at his sides. "Even greater than the power of numbers is the power of unity. One million drops of water is a thunderstorm, but acting in unison those drops of water become a river in which your enemies are swept aside.

"In Slytherin house, the first rule is unity. Slytherin supremacy is paramount. The other houses of Hogwarts are envious of Slytherin. They unite against us. We have no choice but to form an impenetrable façade against them.

"Within Slytherin house, you may compete among yourselves for power and prestige. It is expected, and encouraged. But no matter how viciously you fight among yourselves, your internal struggles will NOT to bring harm Slytherin as a whole.

"A victory for Slytherin is a victory for us all. Support Slytherin at all times, and Slytherin will support you."

Harry was relieved that Snape found his answer acceptable. His head of house was intimidating, and Harry did not want to be on Snape's bad side.


	2. Chapter 2

Most students enjoyed class with their head of house, but Harry wasn't sure about Potions with Professor Snape. The subject, much like the man who taught it, was intimidating. Harry had struggled since the first day in class, and was glad to have Draco as his partner. Harry quickly grew used to Draco's muttered corrections, which often saved Harry from disaster.

Not that anything could have been truly disastrous. Only the worst of efforts of a Slytherin could earn Snape's ire, while the smallest of mistakes by Gryffindor would draw a sharp comment. The Gryffindors wilted under the pressure—Neville Longbottom and his partner, a redhead named Ron Weasley, were constantly having potions vanished before the end of the class period.

It was obvious that Snape had a hierarchy of favorite houses. Slytherin, clearly, was treated most leniently, while Gryffindor was treated most severely. Snape's lack of patience with Hufflepuffs was legendary in the school, but Snape didn't set them up for failure in the same way that he did the Gryffindors. Ravenclaw's treatment was slightly better than neutral—the studious Ravenclaws earned Snape's favor by performing well in class.

Harry was perplexed by the way Snape treated him as an individual. When Snape spoke to Pansy or Draco, for example, they received praise for good work. Crabbe and Goyle received subtle hints from Snape when they were struggling (which was frequently for Crabbe, and very frequently for Goyle). With Harry, however, Snape was carefully neutral.

Harry had vast amounts of experience with favoritism from his childhood with the Dursleys. Harry's Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon often forced Harry do a disproportionate amount of chores, deprived Harry of toys and television, and regularly blamed Harry for accidents caused by Dudley. Harry would tread carefully around his aunt and uncle, knowing that the slightest mistake, real or imagined, would lead to severe punishment.

Snape's behavior was different, though. Harry was treated like a Ravenclaw, receiving neither undeserved praise nor criticism. Harry quickly grew jealous of the attention that Pansy, Draco and the other Slytherins received; Harry was just as much a Slytherin as they were. With Vernon and Petunia, Harry was knew what was wrong: he wasn't Dudley. With Snape, Harry knew of no reason for his treatment.

It was incredibly frustrating. Harry found himself desperate for Snape's approval.

As the term moved forward, Harry discovered that, as poorly as Longbottom performed in Potions, he was even more inept at flying. Within five minutes of the start of their first flying lesson, Longbottom had managed to fall off his broom and break his arm. The class came to complete halt as Madam Hooch left to take Longbottom to the hospital wing. Harry was disappointed—he had been eager to learn to fly a broom.

As soon as Madam Hooch was out of sight, Draco began antagonizing the Gryffindors. This, Harry had quickly realized, was one of Draco's favorite pastimes. The animosity between Gryffindor and Slytherin had been obvious since Harry's first day at school, when each house's table had booed and hissed at the first years sorted into the other house.

Personally, Harry tried not to join in with Draco. Taunting the Gryffindors was uncomfortably close to what Dudley had done to Harry for the last ten years, and Harry didn't want to be that sort of person. Then again, the Gryffindors gave back as good as they got, which was a big difference. Harry had ultimately decided that he wouldn't participate in the antagonism, but he also wouldn't criticize or undermine Draco—Slytherin unity and all.

"Longbottom's forgotten his Remembrall," Draco was saying. "Maybe he should get a Remembrall for his Remembrall!" Draco tossed the small trinket from hand to hand.

It wasn't clever, but it didn't take much to set the Gryffindors off; they would rise to any challenge. Ron Weasley stepped forward, followed almost immediately by a shorter boy with freckles. Finnigan, if Harry remembered correctly.

"Give it over," Weasley demanded.

"Hardly, Weasley. It's a nice keepsake to remember Longbottom's failure. But if I had a keepsake for every time Longbottom failed, they'd fill up our common room!"

Crabbe and Goyle laughed, as always. Harry shook his head—Draco was definitely acting like Dudley, this time. Harry kept quiet and subtly tried to move away from the bickering.

"Malfoy, give it over," Weasley said again.

Draco hopped on a broom and rose up into the air. "Come and get it, Weasley."

Weasley jumped on his own broom and took off after Draco. As the boys zipped through the air, it was clear that both had flown before. Draco clutched the Remembrall in his hand, but that left only one hand steer the broom. Weasley, flying with both hands, was steadily catching up.

As the Gryffindor closed in, Draco threw the Remembrall. "Potter, catch!"

The small ball flew directly at Harry, who snatched it neatly out of the air.

Weasley turned his broom and came barreling toward Harry. Harry hopped out of the way, and Weasley swooped through the space that Harry had occupied only a moment before.

"Watch it, Weasley," Harry yelled.

"Give it over," said a small voice said from next to Harry. Harry found himself standing next to the bushy-haired girl from the train. Granger was her name.

Harry's first thought was to give over the ball. He had caught it on instinct, and dodged Weasley so that he wouldn't be clobbered, and really, Draco was acting like a bit of a prat. Harry had no desire to play a game of keep away; he had been the victim of too many such games as a child.

On the other hand, if he gave over the ball, he'd make his best friend angry and undermine Slytherin solidarity. He couldn't allow his house to lose face, especially not in front of the Gryffindors. Better to not get involved. Let Draco and Weasley settle things.

"It's not my fight," Harry said. He pulled his arm back to throw the ball to Draco.

"It's not your Remembrall, either," said Granger.

Harry paused. In the distance, Weasley had turned around his broom and was again charging toward Harry.

"I don't want to deal with this," said Harry. Harry shook his head and threw the ball back to Draco. Harry drifted away from Granger and back to the rest of the Slytherins.

Weasley turned to chase Draco again. Realizing that he couldn't outmaneuver the Gryffindor with only one hand, Draco pulled his arm back, aiming to break the Remembrall against the ground.

Draco's arm stayed raised, as if he were frozen in place. Which, in fact, he was. A dozen feet away, Weasley was similarly frozen. Below them both stood Professor McGonnegal, wand out and arms in the air.

"This disgusting display will cease at once. 10 points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Come out of the sky immediately."

After both boys were on the ground, Draco sidled up to Weasley. "This isn't over," he whispered. "A duel, you and me. Third floor corridor, tonight at midnight. Bring a second with you, because I'm bringing Potter."

As soon as class was over, Harry pulled Draco aside. "What is a wizard duel? Why am I your second? Do you realize how little magic I actually know? Why did you bring me into this?"

"Relax, Harry." Draco smiled easily. "You won't have to do a thing. A wizard's duel is a formalized spell exchange. The victor is determined when a specific condition is met. Usually, it's whoever is left standing. Sometimes it's a fight to disarm only."

"Like, knocking a wand away?"

"Or cutting an arm off. The term is used rather loosely." Draco waved a hand in the air. "Anyway, a second is named in case I can't continue the fight. Then you step in for me."

"Again, do you realize how little magic I actually know?" Harry could feel the blood draining from his face. "I'm pretty sure that _wingardium leviosa _isn't going to strike fear into the hearts of Gryffindors."

"Again, RELAX. I'm not planning on going. I figured I'd rat out Weasley and Finnegan to Filch. They'll wind up with detention, and there won't be any risk to your delicate self."

The plan seemed nasty to Harry, and a little underhanded… but they were Slytherin, after all. If Harry and Draco showed up for the duel, the point would be to hurt and embarrass the Gryffindors. Draco's plan accomplished the same goals with almost no risk. It didn't make sense, Harry realized, to engage in a fight you might lose. It was much more logical to step back, minimize your risk and ensure victory.

"Fine," Harry said. "But next time you want me to be your second in a wizard duel, please ask."

"Sure," said Draco. "Harry, if I'm ever in a wizard duel, can I name you to be my second?"

"I didn't mean now!"

Draco smiled expectantly.

"Okay, okay," said Harry. "I'll be your second in all future wizard duels."

Draco clapped Harry on the back. "That's the spirit."

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

Harry walked next to Draco on the way to the Halloween feast. As they left the Slytherin common room, a cluster of Gryffindor first years passed by: Weasley, Granger and Longbottom, who had again managed to lose his toad.

Weasley glared at Draco as he passed. Draco and Harry had reported the Gryffindors to Filch after dinner, but Harry hadn't heard about any detentions being issued. The Gryffindors would never have chickened out of a duel, which meant that, despite Draco's efforts, the Gryffindors had managed to escape Filch.

Harry and Draco fell into step behind the Gryffindors. Granger was going on about the history of the Hogwarts Halloween feast, and the complicated enchantments used to decorate the Great Hall. Neither Longbottom nor Weasley seemed particularly interested, but Granger didn't notice.

"How is Granger so smart?" Harry asked Draco. "We were both raised by muggles, but somehow she knows everything about magic."

Draco rolled his eyes. His reply was loud, clearly meant for Granger to hear. "Her nose is always so far in a book that she has ink stains on her face. She couldn't talk to a real person if it meant saving her life."

Granger spun around. "Shut it, Malfoy." There were tears already at the corner of her eyes.

Draco sneered. "Grow a thicker skin, Granger. If you grow enough, it'll match your huge teeth and wretched hair."

Granger burst into tears and went running into the nearest girl's bathroom. Weasley stepped forward with his wand drawn, and Harry and Draco drew their wands in response. Longbottom, eyes wide and scared, didn't move.

"Back off, Weasley," said Harry. Harry tried to sound more threatening than he felt—he still had no idea what sort of spells to use in a duel.

Weasley seemed to consider starting the fight anyway, but ultimately conceded that he was outnumbered. "Sod off, Potter. You and Malfoy both." Weasley lowered his wand and walked to the girl's bathroom door, where he began trying to coax Granger out.

Harry and Draco continued onto the feast. Harry wasn't happy with what Draco had said… but Granger _was_ rather annoying in class, and the older Weasley twin brothers had been playing pranks on Slytherin first years since the beginning of the term. Somebody had to fight back against the stupid Gryffindors.

Halfway through the feast, Professor Quirrel burst into the Great Hall. He was gasping for breath.

"Troll. In the dungeons. Thought you'd like to know." His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

Dumbledore stood and, in a perfectly calm voice, began issuing instructions. "Prefects, please escort your students back to your dormitories. Filius and Minerva, please accompany me to the dungeons."

As Harry and Draco left the Great Hall, following a sixth-year prefect, a thought crossed Harry's mind like a bolt.

"Granger doesn't know about the troll," Harry said to Draco.

"What about it? The troll's in the dungeon and Granger's crying in the loo."

"And what if the troll leaves the dungeon? If Granger gets killed, Weasley's going to tell McGonnegal and Dumbledore why she wasn't in the Great Hall. We could be expelled, Draco." Expulsion was almost the worst thing imaginable for Harry—it would mean being taken away from Hogwarts and returned to a meaningless life among muggles.

"We won't get expelled," Draco said. His voice was less certain than his words. "Besides, Weasley and Longbottom will tell her." Draco's eyes shifted from side to side. "Probably."

"You're really going to trust Weasley and Longbottom to remember something important?"

Draco frowned and said nothing.

"I going to tell her," Harry said. With a quick glance to make sure no prefects were watching, Harry dropped out of line and headed toward the girls bathroom.

"Harry," Draco whispered. "Come back here!"

Harry continued walking away, ignoring Draco. Draco muttered several curse words, and dropped out of line to follow Harry.

As Draco and Harry approached the girl's bathroom, a stench like rotting vegetables filled the air. An enormous shadow was slouching through the hall ahead of them, dragging a club behind it. As the shadow lumbered closer, Harry saw that the club was simply a small tree trunk stripped of its branches.

Harry and Draco ducked behind a suit of armor to hide.

"Troll?" Harry whispered.

Draco nodded. "If we're lucky, it will turn down another hallway."

Harry and Draco were not lucky. The troll sniffed the air, making an enormous chuffing sound. Horrified, the boys watched as the troll turned and entered the girl's bathroom.

"She's probably gone, right?" said Draco. "There's no way she's still in there."

A shrill scream from the bathroom answered Draco's question.

Harry bolted forward. Draco, again cursing, followed. Bursting into the bathroom, they found Granger cowering in the corner. The troll had raised the club above its head, and was preparing crush the Granger.

Harry's only thought was to distract the troll. He shot red sparks out of his wand and began shouting. "Hey! You there! Stop that!"

The troll paused, then slowly turned. Its club was still raised above its head.

"What now?" Draco asked.

"I don't know," Harry said.

"I thought you had a plan," said Draco.

"I did. It ended at 'stop Granger from being crushed.'"

The troll took a lumbering step toward the Slytherins.

"New plan," said Draco, raising his wand. "_Locomotor_ _Mortis_!" The troll's legs froze, and Draco flashed a quick smile. Then troll shook itself, and again began walking toward the boys. Draco's smile vanished.

"_Locomotor mortis_! _Locomotor mortis_!" Draco yelled the spell again and again. The troll froze each time, but quickly resumed its movement. As the troll moved closer, it began to swing its club left and right, crushing sinks and toilets. With the length of the club, the troll would reach the boys very quickly.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" Harry gave his wand a swish and flick, and a sink rose into the air. Harry levitated the sink over the troll's head, then ended the spell. The sink dropped from the air and bounced off the troll's head with a hollow *bonk*.

The troll stopped moving and raised its free hand into the air. It waved its hand around as if shooing away a fly.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" This time Harry lifted a pile of rubble, again dropping the items on the troll's head. The troll looked upward at the new annoyance, waving its hand more and more frantically, squinting to see through the plaster dust.

Draco fired a cutting curse at the troll. "_Diffindo!_" The curse bounced off the troll's hide and impacted on the wall, leaving a light scratch. The troll turned its eyes forward and again, as if seeing the boys for the first time. The troll took another step forward.

"Nice one," Harry said. Harry tried dropping more rubble on the troll, but it was no longer distracted by the small impacts.

The troll took a final step, and the boys were within range of the club. The troll swung the club at the boys' heads, and Harry and Draco ducked to avoid it. The club crashed against the wall, sending debris flying. Harry, standing in the center of the bathroom, escaped without harm. Draco was nearer the wall, though, and was struck in the head by a large piece of tile. The blonde boy fell to the floor, unconscious.

The troll turned to Harry, who was still on the ground. Harry began crawling backward, away from the troll, but he couldn't move fast enough. The troll raised its club…

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" The troll was stuck in the head by a flying toilet. Harry looked to the entrance of the bathroom and saw Ron Weasley, wand extended.

Significantly more solid, the toilet did what rubble could not—the troll stumbled, dazed, and shifted its attention away from Harry. It slowly began to turn toward Weasley.

Harry stood dashed behind the troll, nearer to Granger. Harry began to levitate bathroom fixtures as well, smashing the troll's head with toilets and sinks. The troll became confused as it was attacked from both sides. It began to spin in slow circles, unable to focus. Finally, the troll dropped its club and covered its head, desperate to stop the relentless assault.

The club was nearer to Weasley than it was to Harry. "Weasley, use the club!" Harry shouted.

"It's too heavy!" said Weasley.

"No, you idiot. With the charm!"

Weasley's eyes widened in understanding. He cast the levitating charm again, lifting the giant club into the air and raising it above the troll's head.

Harry quickly cast a tickling charm on the troll's armpit. "_Rictusempra_!" The troll chuckled deeply and instinctively clamped its arms down, trying to stop the tickling.

As soon as the troll's head was exposed, Weasley released the charm and dropped the club. An enormous, hollow clunk echoed from the troll's skull. The troll's eyes rolled upward and it crashed to the ground, unconscious.

Weasley sank to the floor and Harry put a hand against the wall to steady himself. After a moment, Harry staggered toward Granger, who was still curled in the corner, crying.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. Granger looked up, and then leapt at Harry. Before he could do anything, Harry found wrapped in a hug with the Gryffindor girl crying into his robes.

Harry awkwardly held his arms out to his sides. He didn't know what to do. It was the first time he had been hugged by a crying girl who had almost been crushed by a troll.

It was the first time he had been hugged by a crying girl.

Or any girl.

Or hugged at all.

After a moment, Harry moved a hand around and patted the back of her hair.

A moment later, Dumbledore, Flitwick and McGonnegal dashed into the room. The three teachers pulled up short when they saw the unconscious mountain troll, surrounded by first-year students in an obliterated restroom. Flitwick immediately began tending to Draco.

"What happened here?" McGonnagal demanded. Behind her, Professor Snape limped into the restroom.

Harry and Weasley looked at each other. Before they could say anything, a teary-eyed Granger began to speak.

"It was my fault, professors. When I heard there was a troll, I wanted to see it, so I came down to look. I thought maybe I could fight it. Harry and Draco saw me leave and told me it was a bad idea, but I didn't listen. They kept trying to get me to go to my common room, but before we knew it, the troll had us trapped in here."

"I came after Hermione when I noticed that she wasn't in the common room," said Ron. "I followed the yelling and smashing. Potter was dropping things on the troll's head, and I just joined in."

Professor Snape sneered. "Two Gryffindors who believe they can complete an impossible task, and two Slytherins who know better, but manage to complete the task anyway." Snape glanced at McGonnegal. "Perhaps the oldest story ever told."

McGonnegal's eyes narrowed, but she did not respond to Snape's words. "Fifty points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger, for your poor judgment. Mr. Weasley, take ten points for your courage in defending a fellow classmate. Ten points each to Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy for cleverness in defeating the troll, as well as for exercising slightly better judgment."

"I am glad that nobody was hurt this evening," said Professor Dumbledore, speaking for the first time. "With all points assigned, perhaps our heads of house can escort their students back to their dormitories?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Mr. Malfoy is still unconscious. He would recover faster in the hospital wing." With a wave of his wand, Flitwick raised Draco from the floor.

"Thank you, Filius," said Dumbledore. "Ms. Granger, do you wish to spend the evening in the hospital wing, as well? You have suffered quite a scare."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Professor. I'll be fine."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "The vaunted Gryffindor courage. Very well, then."

Flitwick directed Draco's hovering body out of the bathroom and into the hallway. As McGonnegal ushered Weasley and Granger toward the Gryffindor dormitories, Snape limped over to Dumbledore and pulled him aside for a hushed conversation. Harry wasn't the only one to notice Snape's limp—Weasley noticed as well, and stared rather conspicuously at Snape's leg as he passed.

Harry moved to get a better look. Blood was soaking through a fresh tear in Snape's robes. Harry overheard Snape whispering the words "third floor" to Dumbledore.

"Thank you, Severus," said Dumbledore. "I will make certain of it." Dumbledore nodded to Harry, then left the room.

"Follow me, Potter," said Snape. His voice was more clipped than usual, although Harry would not have thought it possible. Snape led Harry through the halls at a swift pace, finally stopping outside the Slytherin common room. Students had not yet been released, so the hall was completely empty.

"Listen closely, Potter. Slytherin is an avenue to glory, that is true, but it is not the fleeting glory of a hero. Your actions tonight were reckless, and you were nearly killed because of it."

"But Granger-"

"Do you think me a fool, Potter?" Snape's voice had become quiet and severe. "Make no mistake, I can tell when I am being lied to by a first year student."

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry looked down at the ground. "I don't think you are a fool."

"Do not forget it. A Slytherin must never let glory or adventure take precedence over pragmatism. The risk must always be worth the reward. Slytherin is not a house for irresponsible braggarts with delusions of grandeur. If you prove to be such a person, I will not be surprised, but I will be sorely disappointed."

Harry looked his head of house in the eye. "I am a Slytherin, sir. I won't disappoint you. I won't."

Snape sneered. "We will see, Potter. Detention with me, in the Potions laboratory, one week from today."

* * *

**A/N:**_ So, look for updates on Fridays, probably every two weeks. This update is a bonus to help us get a bit farther into the story._


	3. Chapter 3

When Harry arrived for his detention he found Snape sitting in his office. Snape's office had two doors, one of which led directly into the Potions lab, the other leading into the hallway. Snape was marking essays, and spoke to Harry without looking up.

"Clean those cauldrons, Potter. Notify me when you are done."

"Yes, sir." Harry shrugged off his robes and began to roll up his sleeves.

"Were you planning on asking permission to use magic, Potter?"

"No,sir. I don't know any cleaning spells."

Snape made a noise in the back of his throat. "They would not be effective if you did. My N.E.W.T. class has been brewing Ricochet Rub, which would reflect any cleaning spells." Snape pointed across the room. "You will find a stiff brush and solvents in the cabinet."

Harry worked hard to scrub the cauldrons completely clean. At Privet Drive, Harry would do the bare minimum to complete his chores; he knew he was going to be yelled at, no matter how well he did. After Halloween, though, Harry was desperate to prove to Professor Snape that he was a good student and a hard worker. Harry's arms quickly began to ache from vigorous scrubbing, but he refused to complain.

As Harry scrubbed the cauldrons, Snape would periodically shout questions at him from the office. "Potter, how many uses are there for dragon's blood?"

"Er… seven?"

"What are they?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You know at least one, Potter."

"It keeps dragons alive?"

"Thank you, Potter, for advising me of the incredibly obvious."

Several minutes later, Snape spoke again. "Potter, where would I find a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Inside the belly of a goat. What are its uses?"

"I don't know, sir."

"It will cure most poisons," said Snape. "You seem to be struggling without Mr. Malfoy whispering you answers. Or did you think I hadn't noticed?"

Harry gritted his teeth and continued silently scrubbing. How was he supposed to know what a bezoar was? They hadn't covered that in class.

Three cauldrons later: "True or false, Potter. Gillyweed may be ingested directly and does not require a potion."

"False?"

"Are you asking me or telling me, Potter."

"Telling."

"Incorrect." Harry could hear the scratch of Snape's quill against parchment as he marked an answer wrong. "It appears, Potter, that you should have been sorted into Hufflepuff, as you are making the same mistakes."

Harry was finding it difficult to concentrate on cleaning the cauldrons. Harry suspected that Snape was marking essays from second or third year Hufflepuffs. How did he expect Harry to know these things?

Snape was quiet for a long time. Harry had only four cauldrons left to clean when Snape spoke again.

"I am stepping out," Snape said. "Continue with your cleaning."

Harry heard the outside door of Snape's office open and close. When Snape returned several minutes later, he was carrying an enormous tray of food: potatoes and rice and squash and what appeared to be an entire roast hen. Harry realized that dinner had begun already in the Great Hall. Harry's stomach rumbled as he hurriedly scrubbed the last cauldron, eager to attend the evening meal. The delicious scent of Snape's food wafted from the office into the Potions laboratory.

Harry finished scrubbing and quickly tossed the brush and solvent into the cabinet. "The cauldrons are all scrubbed, sir."

"Good," said Snape. "The cauldron polish is in the cabinet. Ensure that the cauldrons are shined, as well."

Harry's mouth dropped open. Dinner was almost over!

"Is there something you wish to say, Potter?" Snape slowly raised a forkful of roasted hen to his mouth. He chewed slowly and deliberately, staring at Harry the entire time.

Harry clenched his fists in anger. "Yes," he said through tightly clamped teeth. "Where are the polishing rags?"

Snape swallowed. "You will find them in the same cabinet."

Harry spun on his heel and stormed away to find the polish.

Over an hour later, long after the Great Hall had closed for dinner, Harry again presented himself to Snape. He was now covered in black smudges from the cauldron polish, and his hair was matted with sweat.

"The cauldrons are polished, sir."

"Good. Have a seat, Potter." Snape indicated a chair in front of his desk, and Harry sat. "I wish to have a frank discussion with you," said Snape. "Whatever you say in the next ten minutes will not cause you to lose points, receive detention, or be disciplined in any way. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"What has occurred tonight?"

"Detention, sir."

"Don't be fatuous, Potter. Think."

Harry took a deep breath. "You've been asking me questions that I don't know the answers to."

"Toward what end?" said Snape.

"I don't know," said Harry. "To embarrass me?"

"If I wanted to embarrass you, Potter, I'd ask you those questions in front of the entire class." Snape shook his head. "Perhaps you _should_ have been in Hufflepuff."

Harry snapped. "You know what? You've been provoking me. All night. You're nice to Draco and Pansy and Crabbe and Goyle and everybody in Slytherin but me!"

Snape's face was calm. "You are correct; I have been provoking you."

"You're admitting it?" Harry was incredulous. His surprise almost overrode his anger. Almost.

"Of course, Potter. Or are you content to believe that I am simply being petty and spiteful?"

Harry opened his mouth give a nasty response, but forced himself to hold back. A distant part of his curiosity had been aroused. There had to be something more than maliciousness behind Snape's actions. Snape was no fool, and he had made that abundantly clear on Halloween…

Harry's eyes went wide. "You've been testing me."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched. "Go on."

"You wanted to see if I had learned my lesson from Halloween. You were trying to make me do something stupid, like yell at you or walk out of detention."

Snape nodded. "Tonight was all about pragmatism, Potter. You could have given in to your emotions, and you might have felt better in the short term. Trust me when I say that the long term consequences would have been… severe." Snape's lip curled upward, a ghost of the sneer he generally reserved for Gryffindors.

"Since the beginning of the school year, Mr. Potter, I have been trying to reserve my judgment of you. This was not without difficulty. Tonight, you showed me that you were not sorted into Slytherin in error."

Snape waved his wand. A plate of food appeared on the desk in front of Harry—the same foods that Snape had eaten himself. Next to it was a set of silverware and a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Your plate has been under a warming charm since dinner," Snape said. "After you finish, you are released to your dormitory. The house elves take care of your dishes."

Snape walked out of the office and into the Potions lab, where he began inspecting cauldrons. Harry dove forward and attacked the plate of food.

After Harry had finished his dinner, as he was walking out of the Potions lab, Snape's voice called out one last time.

"Good work tonight, Mr. Potter."

Harry skipped most of the way to his dormitory.

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

"Come on, Harry, we have to get seats! I don't mean good seats, I just mean seats!"

Harry pulled his robes on as he followed Draco through the common room. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor, and Draco had been a nervous ball of energy all week.

"I'm coming," said Harry. "Don't worry."

Draco was several feet ahead, walking briskly toward the door. "Why aren't you more excited, Harry? It's your first quidditch match!"

"I know, you keep telling me that."

Draco shook his head. "Muggle raised. You'll understand after the match."

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted—it was almost as if another troll were on the loose. As Harry and Draco walked through the main doors, they saw only a few straggling Hufflepuffs rushing toward the quidditch pitch. Harry and Draco were hundreds of yards away from the stadium, but they could already hear the roar of the crowd.

As usual, the whole school had turned out for the quidditch match. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were generally seated together in blocks of red/gold, yellow/black and blue/bronze, but there was some blending at the edges as students sat near friends from other houses. Slytherin, by contrast, was a solid mass of silver and green, with no bleeding whatsoever.

Draco and Harry pushed their way into the crowd. The first years were midway up the grandstand. They were the worst seats in the stadium, according to Draco: neither closest to the pitch nor highest in the air. Harry and Draco eventually settled into a space next to Tracey Davis and Theodore Nott, two other first years. Pansy was a few rows ahead, using Crabbe and Goyle to create some breathing room on either side of her.

As the Slytherin team took the pitch, Draco launched into a tactical evaluation of the teams. "Flint is our captain. He's a chaser, and a good one. Wood is captain of Gryffindor. He's the best keeper in the school, and he's only a fifth year. Our team is stronger than Gryffindor, so we should be able to push them around the pitch. Gryffindor's seeker is new this year, a converted chaser, so she shouldn't be too threatening."

Harry nodded, pretending that the whole thing made sense. The quidditch business seemed a bit silly…

…then Madam Hooch blew her whistle, the teams took to the air, and Harry was in love.

The game was spectacular. Players were flying everywhere, bludgers where being clobbered all over the pitch, Flint was firing cannon shots at Wood, and Wood was making miraculous saves. It was a dream.

"Why didn't you tell me that this was amazing?" Harry asked.

Draco laughed. "I did tell you. Apparently you wanted to see for yourself."

As the game progressed, it was clear that a Slytherin victory was inevitable. The Slytherin chasers were dominant, the beaters were roughly equal, and the Gryffindor seeker didn't stand a chance. Harry and Draco joined their older classmates in raucous cheers, some planned, others spontaneous. Tracey Davis, the smallest girl in their year, was cheering louder than anyone else in the Slytherin section. The rest of the school would boo whenever Slytherin scored a goal, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws as well as Gryffindors. Their catcalls simply drove the Slytherin section to cheer louder and more frequently.

It was amazing. For the first time in his life, Harry felt like he was a part of something greater than himself. He was a Slytherin, and a victory for one Slytherin (or seven) was a victory for all. The final score was Slytherin 290, Gryffindor 70—the lions had been utterly demolished.

As they walked back to their dormitory, Harry couldn't stop talking about quidditch. "Did you see how fast they were going on their brooms?"

"Yes," said Draco.

"How about when Johnson got hit with that bludger," Harry said. "She could barely stay on her broom!"

"Yes," said Draco.

"And did you see the way our seeker caught the snitch—one handed!"

"Yes," said Draco, "I, too, was at the match."

Harry glanced over at Draco. "Come on, Draco, that was the greatest!"

Draco laughed. "It was a pretty good match. It wasn't really close, though; Gryffindor has a bad team this year. But it's always nice when Slytherin wins."

"I still can't believe there's a sport this amazing!"

"You should see a professional match," Draco said. "Everything is faster and all the players are better."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "No. Way. Quidditch gets _better!?_"

"Yes, it does. And next year, we get to bring our brooms to school. We can try out for the quidditch team ourselves."

"Wow…" Harry's voice was low and reverent. The thought of being on the quidditch team, having the entire house cheering for you… Harry could barely imagine it. The sound of the Slytherin table cheering at the Sorting was nothing compared to the sound of the crowd at the quidditch match. And getting to fly in front of the whole school, wind in your hair, dodging bludgers… Harry would get to wear quidditch robes with his teammates, rich Slytherin green trimmed in bright silver…

"Harry? Harry!" Draco was waving his hands in front of Harry's face. "You're going all misty-eyed on me. Try to keep it together."

Harry blinked and refocused his eyes. "Draco, next year we are both making the quidditch team."

"I intend to," said Draco with a smile.

* * *

**A/N: **_So, a bit closer to the two week update schedule. But, I wanted to give everybody an update before the holiday craziness. (Well, holidays in the US anyway.) Enjoy!_


	4. Chapter 4

Harry found himself alone in the Slytherin dormitory on Christmas. Draco had lightly teased him about staying at Hogwarts, but Harry could tell it wasn't serious—his friend obviously preferred that Harry stay at Hogwarts rather than going home to live with _muggles_.

Christmas morning dawned cold, and when Harry awoke he found several small presents wrapped at the foot of his bed. Harry was astounded – he had never before received a Christmas present. He grabbed the nearest and tore it open – it was a flute, from Hagrid. Next was a smallish package from the Dursleys: 50 pence and a nasty note. A nicely wrapped package from the Draco and his parents contained beautiful green and silver mittens and a matching hat. The tags noted that the mittens and hat were elf-wash only, whatever that meant. It sounded expensive.

Beneath it all was an unsigned package, and in that package was a shimmering opalescent cloak. As Harry pulled it out of the package, he received a dramatic shock: not only could he see straight through the material, but he couldn't see his hand!

A note fell out of the package onto his bed. Harry thought that he couldn't be more astonished by his unexpected gift, but was quickly proved wrong. Not only was this an invisibility cloak(!), but it had belonged to his father(!).

Harry glanced around the dormitory. Nobody else was present. He raised the cloak to his nose and inhaled deeply. It had been eleven years, but maybe there would be a hint of cologne, or…

Lemon? Did his cloak smell like cleaning solution? Harry inhaled again. No, it was something sweeter. Almost like candy.

Lemon drops.

Why would his invisibility cloak smell like lemon drops?

Harry pondered his mysterious benefactor (and his cloak's mysterious smell) as he went downstairs for breakfast. The Great Hall was nearly empty. Only one other first year had remained behind: Ron Weasley, who was currently sitting at the Gryffindor table. Weasley was wearing an enormous, apparently hand-knitted jumper with a larger letter "R" on the chest.

Harry hesitated. He had never liked sitting alone at lunch when he was at muggle school, but the unrelenting harassment of Dudley and his gang of cronies had forced Harry to do so. Anybody who was friendly with Harry quickly became a target of Dudley's bullying, and as a result, Harry was ostracized. Every day Harry ate alone, isolated while the other students chatted with friends. Harry had been terribly excited to discover that meals at Hogwarts were sorted by house. He always had a place to sit at meals, and always had somebody to talk to. Harry had no desire to return to eating alone; with his entire house gone for holidays, Harry's desire to sit by Weasley was desperate.

On the other hand, things were tense between Weasley and Draco. Weasley and Draco had called an unofficial truce following the troll incident on Halloween, but the antagonism between the pair had slowly been increasing following Slytherin's quidditch victory. And while Granger had been much nicer to Harry following Halloween, neither Harry nor Granger would say hello to the other if Draco or Weasley was within earshot.

Harry was still frozen with indecision when Weasley looked up and saw him standing at the threshold the Great Hall. Harry was too nervous to speak, too nervous to act. The only thing he could do was look at the seat across from Weasley and raise a questioning eyebrow. Weasley, mouth full, simply shrugged. Enormously relieved, Harry walked over to the table. As he sat down, Harry resolved not to provoke Weasley—Harry would control himself, and if Weasley could, too, then they might make it through the meal alive.

"Thanks," said Harry.

"No prwbwm," Ron said, still chewing. The two boys were quiet for several moments as Harry selected food for his plate. Finally, Ron swallowed his enormous mouthful of food. "Why are you here for hols, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "Muggle family doesn't want me. Which works out, because I don't want them, either. How about you?"

"Parents are in Romania, visiting my brother Charlie. He works with dragons."

"Sounds like a brilliant holiday. Why didn't you go along?"

Ron's face flushed and he turned to scoop more food on his plate.

"Right," said Harry. Sensing Ron's discomfort, Harry changed the subject. "So, get anything good for Christmas? My aunt and uncle sent me 50 pence. Biggest Christmas present I've ever gotten from them."

Ron speared a sausage on his fork. "I got some chocolate frogs and a few other sweets, but… those are already gone."

"Before breakfast? And you're still eating like that?"

Ron paused, fork halfway to his mouth. "So?"

Harry laughed. "Never mind. So that's it, just sweets?"

"I got a jumper, too," Ron said, his face turning red. "My mum makes them every year. It's mostly embarrassing."

Harry immediately felt like an idiot: if Ron's parents couldn't afford to take him to Romania, they probably couldn't afford extravagant gifts, either. Of course Ron would feel vulnerable around Christmas, because of the accompanying gift-giving. But that jumper?

"I wish I had something like that," Harry said.

"What, something ugly?"

"No," Harry said. "Something from my mum."

Ron nodded, suddenly quiet.

Harry was quiet for a moment. "When I'm at my Aunt and Uncle's house, I have to wear my cousin's hand-me-downs. It's awful. He's the size of a rhino, and acts like one, too." Ron grinned. "The first time I ever did magic," Harry said, "I was at the zoo. My cousin pushed me out of the way to look at a snake through a glass window. I was so mad, I accidentally made the glass disappear, and the snake chased him around the room."

Ron laughed, then covered his nose with his hand. "Come on, Potter, you almost made me shoot milk out my nose."

"My clever plan has been foiled," Harry said with a grin. Harry's actual plan—to distract Ron from being embarrassed about money—had been quite successful.

And this smaller plan? The plan that Harry didn't really want to admit to himself? The plan to make a new friend by sharing a little bit of his own vulnerability about his parents? That plan, not that Harry would ever admit it existed, also seemed to have been successful.

The boys easily chatted through the rest of breakfast, exchanging stories about Harry's oaf of a cousin and Ron's (numerous) older brothers. When they returned for dinner later that night, the boys again sat together.

"So," Ron said, "Was 50 pence all you got for Christmas?"

"No," Harry said, "I got some gloves and a scarf from the Malfoys, and Hagrid got me a flute. And…" Harry paused, unsure if he should continue. "And something you're going to have to see to believe. Come by Slytherin after dinner."

When Ron arrived outside the Slytherin common room, he hesitated outside the door, then began pacing back and forth. Without the password, he couldn't get in. With all the other students gone, there was no way to send a message to Harry inside the dormitory, either. He finally came to a stop, staring at the door, a look of complete bafflement on his face.

Harry's floating head appeared next to him. "Wotcher, Ron."

Ron yelled and jumped backwards. Harry, laughing, pulled the rest of the invisibility cloak off his body.

"An invisibility cloak, are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am. Cool, huh?"

Ron scowled. "How long have you been watching me act like an idiot in front of the door?"

"Only a few minutes," Harry said. He smiled to show Ron that he wasn't being cruel.

"You sound like Fred and George," Ron said, referring to his infamous prankster twin brothers. "They would kill to get their hands on an invisibility cloak. And this was a Christmas present? Do you have any idea how rare these are? Who gave it to you?"

Harry shrugged. "Package wasn't signed, but whoever it was left a note. It was my dad's."

Ron stepped forward and grabbed a piece of the cloak. As he rubbed the material of the cloak between his fingers, his skin disappeared and reappeared with each movement of the cloth.

"This," Ron said, "is completely cool."

"Come on," Harry said, "Let's go play a prank on Filch or something."

Ron smiled. "I know something better. Let's go up to the third floor."

The boys ducked under the invisibility cloak and made their way up several moving staircases. Moments later, the boys stood outside the door that Dumbledore had forbidden them to enter earlier in the term.

"When Malfoy challenged me to duel," Ron said, "Seamus and I came up here. Before you and Malfoy could show, Filch found us."

Harry knew that he and Malfoy had never intended to duel, and had instead sent Filch to catch Ron. Harry felt guilty, but said nothing.

"Seamus and I split up and ran," Ron said. "I wound up on the other side of this door. You're not going to believe what's in there. Stay quiet."

Harry and Ron quietly opened the door and snuck inside. At the far end of the hallway, looming larger than the troll from Halloween, was a giant, three-headed dog. Its paws were larger than Harry's bed, and any of its three heads could have swallowed Harry in one gulp. The dog was lying on the ground, and the three heads were fighting each other for control of an enormous bone.

"What is that?" whispered Harry.

"It's a giant, three-headed dog," said Ron. "The real question is: why is it here?"

"Well, it's Dumbledore's," Harry said. "He told us to stay away at the welcoming feast, and it's pretty obvious why."

"But it's a stupid place to keep a giant, three-headed dog. The thing's dangerous. Why keep it in a school full of kids?"

Ron was making a frightening amount of sense.

"I think it's a guard dog," Ron said. "On Halloween, Snape had a bloody gash on his leg, and I heard him talking to Dumbledore about the third floor. I think Snape was trying to get past the dog and he got bit."

"Snape wouldn't do something like that," Harry said, automatically defending his head of house. "Besides, he was _telling_ Dumbledore about it. If he was trying to get past a guard dog and steal something, he wouldn't tell the person he was stealing from."

"Maybe," Ron conceded. "But I sure wish I knew what it was guarding."

Ron and Harry's holiday friendship dissolved when classes resumed. With Draco and the rest of the Slytherin boys back in the castle, Harry didn't lack for company. Similarly, Ron took meals with Finnegan, Longbottom and the rest of the Gryffindors.

On the first night back, Harry showed Draco the invisibility cloak. That night, after curfew, the two boys used the cloak to sneak out of the Slytherin dormitory. Harry took Draco to the third floor corridor and showed him the dog.

"What do you think could be hidden there?" Draco asked, once the boys were safely in the hallway.

"I've been thinking about that," Harry said. "On the day you and I met in Diagon Alley, I went to Gringott's with Hagrid. He was getting something important from a vault for Dumbledore. Hagrid pulls something important out of a vault in Gringott's, and Dumbledore has a giant, three headed guard dog. Whatever it is that Hagrid got, I bet the dog's guarding it."

Draco looked thoughtfully at the door. "You know, a thief broke into Gringott's earlier this year. It was only a few days before we came to Hogwarts. Not the Malfoy vault, thankfully, but still…"

"Do you think it's connected?"

Draco shrugged.

"I'm going to go ask Hagrid about it," Harry said.

"That big oaf won't know anything," Draco said. "But, if you must… be sure to tell me anything you find out."

Harry didn't like Draco speaking poorly of Hagrid, but Harry said nothing. There was no requirement that Harry's friends had to be friends with each other. This was just one of those times.

The next night, Harry once again set out under the cover of his invisibility cloak, this time toward Hagrid's hut. The hut was extraordinarily hot, and Harry immediately began sweating when he sat down. Hagrid closed the door behind Harry.

"Cup o' tea, Harry?"

"Yes, please."

Hagrid began busying himself by the stove. "So, Harry… are yeh liking yer time at Hogwarts?"

"I love it," said Harry. "It's the greatest."

"And how are yeh doin' in… Slytherin?" Hagrid seemed hesitant to ask. "They treatin' yeh alright?"

"What do you mean?" Harry wasn't sure why Hagrid was asking. Of course he was getting on alright in Slytherin. It was the Gryffindors who were the problem.

"I mean, are yeh bein' pushed around or hexed or anythin'? I can talk to Dumbledore about it, if yeh are." Hagrid was setting out teacups and saucers on the table. The cups were comically small in Hagrid's enormous hands.

"No, Hagrid, nothing like that is happening. I'm friends with all my housemates. At least, I'm friends with all the first years."

"Oh." Hagrid was quiet for a moment, and was startled back to attention by the whistle of the teapot. "Well, as long as yer alright."

Harry was perplexed; it was almost as if Hagrid was sad that Harry was doing well. But that couldn't be right. Harry decided to change the subject.

"Hagrid, I wanted to thank you again for Hedwig. She's the best. Over hols, when everybody was home, it was nice to have some company. And I got to send presents to all my friends, and she brought some back to me… Oh, and thank you for the flute!"

Hagrid smiled. "It weren't anythin', Harry. I hope yeh like it."

"I do," said Harry. "It was the first Christmas I've ever really gotten gifts."

"What else did yeh get?" Hagrid asked, taking a sip of tea.

"Well the Malfoy's sent me green and silver mittens, and a hat," Harry said.

Hagrid paused, holding his teacup up to his face far after he had stopped drinking. "Did they?" he said. "How nice fer yeh."

"They're really warm," Harry said. "And speaking of warm, why is it so hot in here? It's like a furnace!" Harry pulled at the collar of his shirt.

Hagrid glanced around. "Can yeh keep a secret, Harry?"

"Of course." Harry loved secrets. Keeping a secret, something special between two people… it really made Harry feel like he had friends.

Hagrid turned and began rummaging around under the stove. He removed a large blanket, which appeared to be wound around some sort of object. Hagrid pulled away the blanket and revealed…

"An egg?" Once again, Hagrid had thrown Harry for an unexpected turn.

"Not jus' any egg, Harry. A dragon egg. Gotter keep it hot, or it won' hatch."

"Where are you going to keep a dragon, Hagrid?"

"Er… in here?"

"It's a dragon, Hagrid! It'll get too big! What are you going to feed it? And it'll burn you out of house and home."

"Jus' let me worry 'bout that," Hagrid said.

Harry suddenly saw his opportunity. "Next you'll be telling me that you want to get a giant, three-headed dog."

"Oh, I already got one o' them," Hagrid said. The large man was carefully re-wrapping the egg, not paying attention to what he was saying. "Fluffy's up on the third floor."

"Oh?" Harry spoke carefully, trying to keep Hagrid talking. "Why's Fluffy up there?"

"Because Dumbledore…" Hagrid suddenly looked up from the egg. "Oh, I shouldn'ter said that…"

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry dropped all pretense of being casual, eagerly leaning forward.

"What's up on the third floor is between Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel," Hagrid said. "You can jus' drop it."

"Who's Nicholas Flamel?" Harry asked.

Hagrid dropped his head. "Shouldn'ter said that, either…" Hagrid stood. "Innit past curfew, Harry? Yeh should get back to bed."

Harry recognized that he wasn't going to learn any more from Hagrid that evening. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid. You're a great friend." Harry gave Hagrid a hug, then started back toward Hogwarts. Once he was out of sight of Hagrid's cabin, he ducked underneath his invisibility cloak.

Back in the castle, Harry headed straight for the dungeons. What was Hagrid going to do with a dragon egg, let alone a dragon? What were Hagrid and Dumbledore guarding with a giant, three-headed dog named Fluffy? And who was Nicholas Flamel?

Although the invisibility cloak protected Harry from prying eyes, it did nothing to protect Harry against his own stupidity. Harry, distracted by his thoughts, tripped over something in the hall and stumbled into a suit of armor. There was an enormous amount of shouting, yowling, crashing and banging as Harry struggled to regain his balance.

A marching band could not have made more noise.

A light appeared at the end of the hallway—Filch with a lamp, investigating the racket. Harry turned around and discovered that he had tripped over Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat. The cat sniffed the air and moved toward Harry, mewling softly. Harry backed away from Mrs. Norris, but the cat continued to follow him, mewling louder and louder. As the light grew brighter, Harry dashed away from Mrs. Norris. He ran through the nearest door and slammed it behind him.

Harry pressed his ear against the door and listened as Filch investigated the jumbled pieces of armor. Harry could hear the caretaker rearranging the armor, grumbling and cursing the entire time. Even after the hallway grew silent, Harry did not leave his hiding place—he wanted to be certain that Filch had gone.

Waiting, however, was boring. Harry decided to explore the room in which he was hiding. It was a large-ish room with interesting columns and tall windows. The room was almost entirely empty; the only furnishing was a tall mirror, standing precisely in the center of the room. A strange inscription ran around the frame of the mirror.

Curious, Harry stood in front of the mirror. The mirror reflected only an empty room.

Harry was perplexed, then smiled. He removed the invisibility cloak, and was greeted by his mirror image… and more.

Harry spun around. There was nobody behind him.

Harry turned and looked at the mirror again. Yes, there he stood… but behind Harry's reflection stood his parents, smiling.

Harry wasn't sure how long he stayed in that room, but he was very tired when he crept back to the Slytherin dormitory.

Harry was fascinated by the mirror. He came back the next night, and the night after that. Each time, the image changed slightly. Once, his reflection was wearing a sweater with a giant "H" on the front, and his mother was carrying knitting needles. Another time, his reflection was throwing a quaffle with his father.

On the third night, Harry brought Draco with him. He wanted to show his parents to Draco and make sure that he wasn't crazy. Draco, however, saw something different.

"It's my father," Draco said. "My father and me. He's proud of me. He hugged m—" Draco stopped abruptly.

"What?"

Draco's tone had changed. All the wonder was gone from his voice, replaced with tension. "He hugged my mother."

"You didn't say your mother was there."

"Well, she was. My father hugged my mother and they are happy and I'm standing in front of them and I'm happy, too. We're all happy." Harry had the impression that Draco was lying about what he saw. The next day, the boys did not speak of the mirror, and Harry didn't invite Draco to return.

On the fourth night, Harry saw his mother carrying a small child wrapped in a blue blanket: Harry's brother, who had never been born.

Harry was suddenly filled with anger. Was this what Voldemort had taken from him? His parents, his brother? His childhood? His entire life?

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists. He was trembling with rage.

When he opened his eyes, the image in the mirror had changed. Harry saw himself, older and alone, with a wand in his hand. Reflection-Harry waved the wand, and mist appeared, coalescing into two human shapes. Those shapes gained color, became solid, and formed themselves into Harry's parents.

_How much magic would it take?_ Harry thought. And, almost immediately, the words of the Sorting Hat: _Slytherin could make you great__…_

"Back again, Harry?"

Harry spun around. He had been so wrapped in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Dumbledore enter the room. The headmaster was standing slightly behind Harry, his face serene.

"Professor, I…"

Dumbledore held up a hand, stopping Harry mid-sentence. "Do you understand what you are seeing in the mirror, Harry?"

"The future that might have been?" Harry was guessing.

Dumbledore smiled. "Perhaps, but perhaps not. The Mirror of Erised shows your heart's deepest wishes, Harry. If I may be so bold, what is it that you see?"

"I see my parents," Harry whispered. "I wish I had them back."

Dumbledore's face fell, as if he was succumbing to a distant sadness. "A worthy desire, Harry, to see your family again. Nevertheless, the Mirror of Erised is dangerous. Many great wizards have wasted away in front of this mirror, trapped in its lies and their own longing. For that reason, the mirror will be moved tomorrow. I ask for your promise that you will not seek it out again."

Harry nodded.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Now, if you will take one last look, I will escort you back to your dormitory."

Harry turned again to the mirror, expecting to see one last glimpse of his parents.

Instead, Harry's older reflection stood alone in the center of the mirror. The mirror grew darker and darker around Harry's reflection, whose eyes flickered bright green and black as if lit by fire.

* * *

**A/N: So, it looks like I've given up on the "every two weeks" schedule. It's written, and it's demanding to be published. Expect updates every Friday.**

**Additionally, thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I know that first year can be a little boring, so I'm trying to keep things moving at a good clip.**


	5. Chapter 5

As the term went on, Harry discovered that he was growing slightly bored with his classes. Early in the year, he had been fascinated by the simple prospect of doing magic. Now, the luster had worn off, and he was beginning to realize that he was at _school_, which required doing _work_ and listening to _teachers _as they gave _lectures_. History of Magic, taught by the ghost of Professor Binns, was notoriously sleep-inducing. ("Boredom can kill," Draco insisted. "Otherwise, Binns would still be alive.") The class had so little to do with the actual practice of magic that Harry and Draco would alternate taking notes while the other slept through the lecture.

Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was surprisingly tedious, as well. Harry had high hopes for the class—what could be more interesting than an entire class about fighting, after all—but Quirrell taught predominantly by lecture. This was an odd choice, given Quirrell's notorious stutter. Harry stayed awake and paid attention, because he wanted to learn magic, but he always left the class with a headache. Probably from Quirrell's stutter.

Potions with Professor Snape had improved, even though he still needed quite a bit of help from Draco. Harry had begun to receive the benefits of Snape's Slytherin favoritism, and that was just fine with Harry.

Charms had proved to be Harry's favorite subject, with its large amount of wandwork and spellcasting. Although Harry had lagged significantly behind the magically-raised students at the start of the year, he discovered quickly that he had a natural talent for Charms work. (Harry could think of at least one troll who could attest to Harry's skill at _wingardium leviosa_.) In Charms, Harry felt most like a wizard, and he devoted extra time to studying. Because many of the charms had practical applications—levitating trunks, repairing broken items, tickling classmates—Harry found plenty of opportunities to practice.

In the early spring, Pansy decided to throw herself a birthday party in the Slytherin common room. Harry knew that Pansy wanted to do _something_ for her birthday, but he was surprised by the scale of her plan. Her party was announced at breakfast when over forty owls simultaneously swarmed over the Slytherin table, delivering absurdly ornate invitations.

"Draco," Harry asked, "if everybody in Slytherin got invited, why did Pansy even bother with invitations?"

"Of course she'd send invitations," said Draco. "How else would we know there's a party?"

"She's been talking about it for weeks," Harry said. "She could have just told us when it was. We eat at the same table three times a day."

"Harry, don't be vulgar. That's completely inappropriate."

"I don't see what's wrong with it."

Draco sighed. "Watch." Draco stood and yelled down the table. "Hey, Pansy! If you wanted to invite us to a party, you could have just told us. We eat at the same table three times a day."

Pansy's eyes got wide. "Draco, don't be vulgar! That's completely inappropriate!"

Draco made a grand gesture with his arm, as if to say: Voila! Harry still didn't understand, but he didn't ask any more questions.

As the week progressed, Harry heard many of the upper-year Slytherins grumbling about Pansy's party: Pansy was arrogant, Pansy was presumptuous, Pansy didn't know her place. Pansy apparently heard the rumblings, as well. Exactly one week after her invitations had been delivered, another parliament of owls bombarded the Slytherin breakfast table, this time delivering supplementary notices promising live entertainment, elite catering, and an walking birthday cake in the shape of Gilderoy Lockhart.

The murmurs among upper-year Slytherins quickly ceased. Nobody wanted to risk being un-invited.

Two weeks before the party, Harry found Draco lying in their dormitory, flipping through a _World's Edge _clothing catalog. Next to him was a piece of parchment covered with notes. On the pages of the catalog, well-dressed wizards laughed on boats, smiled while eating fruit salad, and tossed quaffles to one another in clothing that was not at all suited for sport. Occasionally, they stood on beaches with similarly well-dressed witches.

"What are you wearing to the party?" Draco asked, without looking up.

"Er, my robes?" Harry looked down at his clothes. Nothing was wrong with them that he could see.

"Harry. Please. I'm trying to decide, and you aren't being helpful at all."

"I was serious," Harry said.

Draco looked up and saw that Harry was, in fact, serious. "Muggle raised. Harry, you can't just wear your normal school robes. You'll be laughed out of Slytherin. This is an _event_. You have to carefully consider what you wear." Draco turned back to the catalog. "Hopefully, you'll wear something new," he said, half to himself.

"Why does it matter?"

"Some days I think you're completely hopeless." Draco made another note on his parchment, then sat up and closed the catalog. "What you wear makes a statement. It says, 'I'm serious,' or, 'I'm playful,' or, 'Your party is so shameful that I hardly dressed up,' or, 'I'm such a nitwit that I didn't know to dress up properly.'"

"Hey!"

"It's true," Draco said with a shrug. "Whether you want to or not, you'll be making a statement with what you wear. Here's a good catalog—I picked out what I want, so you can keep it."

Harry took the catalog. "Can't I just copy from your order?"

"No, you cannot. If you did, your clothes would say, 'I'm not able to dress myself,' and my clothes would say, 'I'm dumb enough to wear the exact same clothes as my best friend.'" Draco shook his head. "Choose something for yourself, for both our sakes."

Later that night, Harry sat on a couch in the Slytherin common room, flipping through the _World's Edge_ catalog over and over. Nothing made sense to Harry. In the muggle world he had been forced to wear Dudley's hand-me-downs, but at least he understood what clothing items _were_, even if he didn't understand fashion. The wizarding catalog contained items that Harry could barely comprehend. The "whip-crack ties," for instance, appeared to be neckties which would untie themselves and snap at the faces of passers-by. The "eruptorlinks" were worn on the cuffs of dress shirts seemed to fire small jets of magma every 10 to 15 minutes. At one point, Harry thought he was looking at a coat, only to discover that the item was intended to be worn as a hat.

Harry closed the catalog with a grunt of frustration.

"Having a hard time with clothes?"

Harry looked up. Tracey Davis was sitting in a chair across from him, but Harry hadn't notice her sit down. The blonde girl had her legs curled underneath her.

"I'm trying to figure out what to wear for Pansy's party, but I can't make sense of anything," said Harry.

"Why don't you wear something you already have? It won't be new, but you won't have to worry."

Harry could feel himself blushing slightly. "All I have are school robes, actually."

"Oh. That is a problem, then." Tracey walked over to the couch and sat down next to Harry. "Let's have a look. We'll find you something good. Was there anything you liked?"

Harry pointed at a robe in the catalog. "I don't like this robe, but it's black so I wouldn't have to buy new pants."

"Black never matches black."

"Huh?"

"These clothes are all made from different fabrics and different weaves, and then they're dyed differently. Unless it's from the same company, same material, same batch, it won't match. Even then, sometimes not."

Harry nodded as if he understood. Davis continued to speak, staring at the catalog as she flipped from page to page.

"The worst thing anyone can do is try to match, but fail," Tracey said. "The party is soon, so you won't have any time to return and re-order. That means we should stick with neutrals or color compliments. You'll probably need new everything." The words coming out of Tracey's mouth were as strange to Harry as any spell he had learned at Hogwarts.

"How about this, then?" Harry pointed at another robe.

Tracey clucked her tongue. "Harry, you're much more of a winter than a summer."

"What?"

"That's far too red-orange. You need a blue-red."

"What!?"

"You really were muggle raised, weren't you?" Tracey had moved on from robes to ties in the catalogue.

"Why do people keep saying that?"

"I'll just pick something for you, Harry. Thank me after the party, please." Tracey never looked up from the pages of _World's Edge_. Harry resigned himself to looking over Tracey's shoulder, his clothing now completely out of his hands.

On the evening of the party, Harry dressed himself in his new robes, new pants, and new shirt, new tie, even new socks. The only things that weren't new were his shoes. And his underwear. (Harry wasn't about to discuss _that_ with a girl.)

As he stood in front of the mirror in his dormitory, he had to admit: Davis knew what she was doing. His robes were dove gray, and his pants were dark charcoal with ash gray socks. His shirt was slate gray and had heather gray pinstripes. Harry's tie, however, was solid yellow. The yellow was so blinding that Harry was convinced the color could not have been created without magic.

"Can't I wear something other than gray?" Harry had asked Tracey when the clothes arrived.

"No. It's a look."

"What color are my robes again?"

"Dove."

"Dove is a kind of gray?"

"Yes."

"Do I have to wear a yellow tie?"

"Yes. It's an accent piece."

"You sound like you're decorating a house."

"You're acting like a house."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Neither does your inability to dress yourself." And that had been the end of it.

Draco came up behind Harry in the dormitory, taking a moment to appraise his friend's state of dress. "You look respectable," Draco said. "How did you manage that?"

"Davis picked everything out. I'm just wearing it."

"Yikes." Draco made a face. "Why Davis? I'm sure Pansy would have helped you."

"Davis offered," Harry said. "What's wrong with that?"

"She's a weird one," Draco said.

"Weird how?" Harry hadn't noticed anything that was particularly wrong with Davis. She was quiet, and kept to herself. Her only friend seemed to be Daphne Greengrass.

Draco shrugged. "I'm just saying that I wouldn't trust her to dress me. Then again, _I've_ been able to dress myself for years. How many different kinds of gray are you wearing, exactly?"

Harry furrowed his brow and glared at his friend. "Shut it, Draco." He paused for a moment. "Five."

Draco laughed. "Come down to the common room, the party is about to—" Before Draco could finish his sentence, the boom of music began pounding through the Slytherin common room. "Strike that. The party HAS started. Let's make our appearance, shall we?"

Almost all of Slytherin had gathered in the common room. Several tables covered in plates of food were pushed up against one wall. Charmed servingware hovered over the buffet, threatening to dump food onto anything plate-shaped that happened to pass by. On the opposite side of the room was a live band, comprised of two recently-graduated Slytherins and the least-famous member of the moderately-famous-but-broken-up wizarding band _Wandcast_. A six foot tall animated birthday cake stumbled through the room. Harry couldn't say whether or not the cake looked like Gilderoy Lockhart, but it did look delicious.

When Pansy saw Draco and Harry, she squealed and skipped over. "You two boys look so cute! Thank you for coming to my party!"

"Er, no problem," said Harry.

Draco took Pansy's hand and lightly raised it to his lips. "Pansy, I would never miss such an auspicious event."

Pansy smiled and took Draco's arm. "Let's go say hello to Blaise and Theo," she said, pulling Draco toward Zabini and Nott, a pair of first-year boys. Draco looked back at Harry and shrugged, then allowed himself to be led through the room.

Harry, suddenly without his best friend, realized that he had never been to a party before, and that he had no idea what to do with himself. For lack of a better plan, he wandered toward the food and selected a few tasty-looking items. All too quickly, Harry found himself with a plate of food, a glass of pumpkin juice, but still no idea of what to do with himself.

"Harry! Over here!" Daphne Greengrass, another first year, was waving at Harry from across the room. Daphne was a tall, slim girl with dark hair and blue eyes. She and Harry hadn't spoken much throughout the year, but she was sitting at a table with Tracey Davis. Harry quickly crossed the room, glad to have somebody to talk to.

"You look nice tonight," Daphne said as Harry sat down.

"Thanks, Tracey picked it out."

Daphne smiled. "Oh, I know. Tracey hasn't been able to stop talking about it."

Harry glanced over at Davis, who immediately flopped forward, covering her face with her arms. Despite Davis's attempts to hide, Harry could still see her ears turning red.

"I'm lucky she came along," Harry said. "I was completely helpless. My first instinct was to wear school robes, and my second was to copy what Draco had ordered."

Daphne laughed. "Oh, that _is_ helpless. Are you certain you don't belong in Hufflepuff?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at Daphne. "The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Hufflepuff, you know."

"Harry, that's not something you should say out loud!" Greengrass sat back in her chair and placed an open hand over her mouth. "Wait, are you taking the mickey?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all. And when I still wanted Slytherin, it tried to send me to Gryffindor."

"NO! What did you do?" Greengrass actually was shocked, at this point. Even Davis had looked up, her curiosity overcoming her embarrassment.

"I insisted on Slytherin. Demanded it, really."

"Wow," said Daphne. "I don't know if I could have done that."

Harry rubbed his knuckles on his robes. "It's not that big of a deal. If I could trick the Sorting Hat into putting me in Slytherin, I probably belonged here all along." Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice. "Are you girls enjoying the party?"

"It's a little much," Daphne said, "but that's what you get from a Parkinson."

"Oh?"

Tracey sat up and spoke in a quiet voice. "The Greengrasses and the Parkinsons are both old pureblood families. They know each other a little too well, and familiarity breeds contempt."

"Not at all," said Daphne, raising her chin. "What breeds contempt is an entire family's failure to realize that having money does not require spending it on ostentatious frivolities." Harry had the impression that Daphne had said that sentence, or something like it, many times before.

As Daphne finished speaking, the Lockhart cake stumbled past. The cake was (unsuccessfully) trying to evade Crabbe and Goyle, who were chasing behind it with forks.

"I fail to see anything ostentatious or frivolous about this party," Harry said, eyes on the walking cake. He struggled to keep his face perfectly expressionless.

"I agree," said Davis, forcing her mouth into a thin line. "This is obviously serious business."

Daphne nodded solemnly. "Business of the most serious kind."

The three students waited for a moment, broke out into peals of laughter.

Harry enjoyed his time with Daphne and Tracey. Daphne was easy to talk to, and Tracey, although rather quiet, always seemed to be intensely involved in the conversation. At some point in the evening, Pansy swooped over to Harry's table. Draco collapsed into a chair next to Harry. Pansy remained standing, nearly bouncing on her heels with excitement.

"Daphne, you absolutely must see the dress my mother bought me!" Pansy was off at a sprint, clearly expecting Daphne to follow.

"Oh, I must." Daphne glanced over at Tracey. "Come on, Tracey. I'm not doing this alone." The two girls stood and followed Pansy across the common room.

Harry finally had time to look at Draco. Draco's tie was loose and askew, his robes had several wrinkles and creases, and there appeared to be a stain on his sleeve.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. "Pansy. It's like she's been drinking Pepper-Up potions all day."

"Is that like 7-Up? Or Dr. Pepper?"

"What?"

"Never mind." Harry was tempted to grumble about Draco being wizard raised, but he didn't think his friend would see the humor in it. "Fancy a game of Exploding Snap?"

After a few games of cards, Crabbe and Goyle walked by and asked to join. Across the room, the Lockhart cake had collapsed. Massive holes had been torn from its legs and torso. The person or persons responsible were obvious, based on the cake smeared on Crabbe and Goyle's faces and hands.

Harry re-dealt the cards for four-way. Draco won, which wasn't surprising to Harry. Harry and Draco had played many games of Exploding Snap, and Draco almost always won. What was surprising to Harry was Crabbe coming in second. Harry had never seen Crabbe display any particular cleverness before.

Goyle was dead last.

As Draco dealt for the next game, a shadow fell on the table. Harry looked up and found Marcus Flint, captain of the quidditch team, looming over him. Harry would never admit it, but he had a fair bit of hero worship for the Slytherin chaser.

"Potter. Malfoy." Flint was a man of few words.

Harry was too stunned to speak, but Draco played things smooth.

"Flint, hello! Care for a game of Exploding Snap?"

Flint shook his head. "I came over here to talk. I've looked at the flying grades for first years, and you two are the best. Bring your brooms next year. There'll be an open spot on the team, and we might keep a reserve player."

"Got it," said Draco.

Without another word, Flint turned and walked away.

"But grades haven't been released," Goyle said.

"Of course they haven't," said Draco. "Flint probably got them from Professor Snape."

"But why would Snape have our flying grades?" Goyle's brow was furrowed as he tried to process what had happened.

"I bet Snape got them from Madame Hooch," said Harry. "He probably does it every year. Tells her that he's making a mid-term evaluation of Slytherin first years, or some other excuse."

Draco smiled. "Then he gives the grades to Flint, and Flint can recruit for next year. Better recruiting means better players…"

"…which is why we keep winning the quidditch cup," said Crabbe. "I like it."

The boys resumed their game of Exploding Snap, now excitedly discussing quidditch. Flint had practically told Harry and Draco that they would make the quidditch team next year. Harry imagined the roar of the Slytherin crowd in his ears as he swooped about the pitch on his broom… It would be fantastic.

Harry was so distracted that he almost lost to Goyle in their last game.

* * *

**A/N: **_It's already spring at Hogwarts! Only two more chapters away from the stunning conclusion of Book One!_

_In other news, many thanks to everybody who has been kind enough to review. I never realized how much an author lives and dies by his reviews, until I started posting myself. Be kind to your favorite authors this holiday season, and post a review!_


	6. Chapter 6

It was nighttime, and a light fog was rolling over the grounds of Hogwarts. An odd group of students stood outside Hagrid's hut: Harry, Draco, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry was stamping his feet to keep warm.

Harry had finally convinced Hagrid that a dragon was not a housepet. It had taken weeks of prompting from Harry, and a close call in which Norbert the dragon had nearly burnt down Hagrid's hut, but Hagrid had finally conceded. If Hagrid's hut was going to remain standing, the dragon had to go.

The next problem was determining exactly how to get rid of a dragon. Hagrid wasn't going to allow Norbert to be released into the care of a poacher or potions dealer—Norbert would be dead within a week and sold in pieces. But there weren't many private parties interested in purchasing an enormously dangerous pet that would likely burn down their house and eat their family, either. Hagrid even contacted Gringott's, but the goblins replied that they already had a dragon to guard their bank.

Then Harry remembered Ron Weasley's older brother. Harry had convinced Weasley to organize the midnight exchange. Weasley insisted that he be allowed to bring along Granger—it wasn't every day that you had the opportunity to see a dragon. Harry realized that Ron was right, and invited Draco as well.

This was not a good idea.

Weasley and Draco began bickering in the Great Hall and continued all the way to Hagrid's hut. Granger and Harry hung behind, saying little. The mood was tense as the four students waited in the cold spring air.

"How'd he get the egg, anyway?" asked Weasley.

Harry shrugged. "Somebody gave it to him in a bar."

Draco sneered. "In a bar? Sounds like the sort of place you'd find Hagrid."

Granger's curiosity was piqued. "People don't just carry dragon's eggs around in bars. They don't just give them away, either."

"So ask Hagrid," Harry said.

Hagrid insisted that the egg was a gift. "Nice guy, 'e was," Hagrid said. "Couldn'ta seen his face, dark hood and all, or I'd want ter give him sommat in return, you know. 'E bought all the drinks that night, a real good 'un."

Granger's head shot up. "Hagrid, what else did the two of you talk about?"

"Nothin' much," Hagrid said. "'E was real innerested in animals. Had a great talk about Fluffy, we did."

"Fluffy?" Granger asked.

"The three-headed dog on the third floor," said Harry.

"That thing is named Fluffy?" said Draco and Weasley in unison. The two immediately began glaring at one another.

"What did you tell him about Fluffy?" asked Granger, not to be distracted. Apparently, Weasley had taken Granger to see the dog, as well.

"Nothin'. I jus' said that people get scared too easy of animals. With Fluffy, fer instance. Play a little tune, an' 'e goes right to sleep."

After the dragon was taken away, on the way back to the castle, Weasley was insistent that the shadowy figure Hagrid met in the bar had been Snape. Harry and Draco were vehemently opposed.

"Snape couldn't get past the dog on Halloween," Weasley said. "So he got Hagrid drunk and bribed him with a dragon egg. Now Snape knows how to get past the dog, and he's probably just waiting for a chance."

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore knows Snape was up there on Halloween. Snape told Dumbledore himself. You can't be serious."

"I am serious. As soon as we get to the castle, I'm going to tell Dumbledore."

"Go ahead," said Draco. "But don't expect us to go with you."

At the castle doors, the Gryffindors split away from the Slytherins. As soon as Weasley and Granger were out of sight, Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak.

"I want to see what Dumbledore says," Harry whispered.

Draco and Harry slipped under the cloak and followed the pair of Gryffindors. Before they could find Dumbledore, however, Weasley and Granger stumbled upon Professor McGonnegal. McGonnegal denied their request to see the headmaster, and gave the pair a detention the next evening for breaking curfew. Granger and Weasley protested, but McGonnegal remained firm.

Underneath the cloak, Harry and Draco snickered, then quietly snuck back to the Slytherin dormitory.

*!*!*!*!*!*

"How was that detention, Weasley?" Harry asked.

Weasley and Granger were seated at the Gryffindor table for lunch. Harry and Draco stood behind them.

"Shut up, Potter," said Weasley. "I got that detention because I was helping you. You owe me."

Harry laughed. "You got that detention because you were being stupid about Professor Snape."

"I am not being stupid about Snape," Weasley snapped.

Draco chimed in. "What did you have to do? Clean under desks?"

"No, we went into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid," said Granger. "Someone or something has been killing unicorns and drinking their blood."

Draco and Harry glanced at each other. It sounded gruesome… and a little cool.

"Did you find anything?" Harry asked.

"We found a dead unicorn," said Granger. "Somebody in a black cloak—"

"Snape," said Weasley.

"—was drinking its blood. Whoever it was—"

"Snape," said Weasley, again.

"—started flying after us. Luckily, a centaur stepped in and saved us."

"Saved us from Snape," Weasley said. "Black cloak, swoops around like a giant bat, drinks the blood of innocents to survive…"

Granger swatter Weasley on the arm. "Ronald, have some respect. Professor Snape is still a teacher."

"Indeed I am," said a clipped voice. The four students turned and found Professor Snape looming over them. "All four of you will be late for Potions unless you leave for class immediately. It would be in your best interests to do so."

The four students stood and briskly walked out of the Great Hall.

*!*!*!*!*!*!*

The next day, Weasley was at the front of the Great Hall after dinner, practically shouting at Professor McGonnegal. "What do you mean Professor Dumbledore's gone to London? I need to talk to him!"

"Mr. Weasley, I suggest you calm down. Professor Dumbledore's whereabouts were supposed to remain somewhat secret, although that is clearly no longer the case. As Deputy Headmistress, anything you would say to Professor Dumbledore you can also say to me."

As Draco and Harry watched, Weasley leaned forward and whispered to McGonnegal. Weasley pointed upward several times, twice in the direction of Hagrid's hut, and then gestured wildly at the empty seat where Professor Snape usually took his dinner.

Professor McGonnegal whispered to Weasley, whose face turned a bright red. Weasley spun on his heel and stiffly walked back to his seat at the Gryffindor table.

Harry and Draco snickered.

On the way back to the Slytherin common room, Harry heard something strange.

"Draco, listen. Does that sound like a harp to you?"

Draco paused. "Yes. I've never heard that before."

From above came the sound of a slamming door, and the music of the harp was suddenly gone. None of the other students seemed remotely curious—what would otherwise be strange happenings became rather commonplace when one lived at Hogwarts.

"You don't think…" Harry hesitated. "I mean, that door could have been on the third floor. And Fluffy likes music. And Professor Snape did leave dinner early tonight."

Draco smirked. "Only one way to find out."

*!*!*!*!*!*!*

Harry and Draco stood just inside the door to Fluffy's chamber. The enormous dog was sleeping peacefully. Nearby, an enchanted harp played a lullaby.

"There's no way Weasley was right," Draco said. "It can't be Snape."

"It's somebody," Harry said.

There was a noise behind them. The door to the chamber opened and Weasley and Granger slipped through.

"Took you two long enough," Draco said.

The Gryffindors jumped, startled. "What are you two doing here?" Weasley demanded.

"We heard music and got curious," Harry said. "Want to go find out who's trying to steal something from Nicholas Flamel?"

In unison, Weasley and Draco said, "The Philosopher's Stone!" The two glared at one another.

"What's the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked.

"A Philosopher's Stone can make the Elixir of Life," said Malfoy. "Drink it, and you can be immortal."

"You can also use it to turn lead into gold," said Granger. "It's a legendary pursuit of alchemists in the muggle world."

Draco nodded. "It gives you all the money you want and a life long enough to use it. My father is always going on about what he'd do if he had one."

"Dumbledore and Flamel are the last two wizards powerful enough to create one," said Weasley. "That must be what's hidden here." The other students looked at him in surprise. "What? It was on a Chocolate Frog card."

Granger stepped forward. "Well? Are we going to follow him?"

Harry hesitated. He remembered the words of Professor Snape on Halloween: the glory of Slytherin was not the glory of a hero. But if Snape was the one trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, then maybe he was just telling Harry that to keep Harry off the trail. And if Snape _wasn't_ the one trying to steal the Stone, then catching the real thief would clear Snape's name and put Weasley in his place. And Harry would be saving the Philosopher's Stone—immortality and infinite money! Surely that risk was worth the reward…

"Let's do it," said Harry.

Harry crept forward on his tiptoes, walking as silently as possible. Draco, Weasley and Granger followed behind him. The magical harp plinked and plucked in the background. Slightly ahead of Harry, Fluffy snored in triplicate, each of the heads taking alternating breaths. When Harry reached the trap door next to Fluffy, he opened it slowly and looked inside.

"No ladder," he whispered.

"Maybe we just jump," suggested Weasley.

"Sounds like a good way to get killed," said Draco.

"Can we levitate down?" asked Harry.

Granger shook her head. "You can't hover yourself; magic won't allow it."

"What about each other?"

"Maybe…" Granger put her hand on her chin, lost in thought. The room was absolutely silent. Weasley opened his mouth to say something, but Harry put a finger to his lips—he didn't want Weasley breaking Granger's train of thought. "Or we could put our hands and feet on opposite walls. Friction would stop us from falling, and we could shuffle down."

"Guys?" said Weasley. "I think we should jump."

"And I think you're stupid," Draco said.

"No, I really think we should jump." As Weasley spoke, there was a loud rumbling noise, soon joined by a second and a third.

Harry's first thought was that the rumbling would overwhelm the music of the harp and wake Fluffy. Harry's second thought was that the harp had already stopped playing, which meant that Fluffy was already awake. Harry's third thought was that, given the choice between jumping into the trap door and being eaten by a giant, three-headed dog, Harry would much rather jump.

"Jumping it is," said Harry, leaping into the hole. As he fell, he heard yelling behind him: Granger, Weasley and Draco had all quickly followed.

As Harry fell, he saw a dim light illuminating the bottom of the hole. The floor appeared to be covered in green vines. Harry braced himself for a hard landing, bending his knees and tucking his body into a roll. The vines turned out to be soft and pliant, and they broke his fall rather comfortably. Harry continued his roll so that his friends wouldn't land on top of him, and ended on his hands and knees. Before he stood, he was already glancing around the chamber for any sign of the thief, but there were none.

Behind Harry, Granger and Draco landed on the vines. Draco was forced to dive away to prevent Weasley from landing on top of him.

"Watch it, Weasley!"

"Watch yourself!" Weasley shouted back.

Harry felt something slither around his arms. He looked down and found that the vines had begun to thrash and writhe, and they were tightening around his arms and legs. Harry began to shout for help.

"Oh, I know this!" said Granger. "This is Devil's Snare!"

"Thanks for the identification!" Harry snapped. He had been caught unawares, and was being pulled to his hands and knees. "Help?"

Granger and Weasley began frantically marching around the room, yanking their legs free from the vines before they became fully entangled. Draco tried to get to his feet, but a vine wrapped around his waist and dragged him back to the floor.

Granger was thinking out loud. "Devil's Snare like's the damp and the dark, so…"

"SO BURN IT OUT!" shouted Draco. Vines were now covering his arms and legs, and were moving up his torso toward his head. Meanwhile, Harry was being pulled downward, straining desperately to keep his face from touching the wriggling mass of plants.

"Oh, right!" Hermione shouted the words to a spell and blue flames erupted from her wand. The vines jerked away from the flames, retreating into farthest corner of the room. Hermione directed the flames toward Draco, who had become so entangled in the vines that only his face was visible. The vines uncurled themselves and released the blonde boy, who scrambled away from them on his hands and knees. Finally, Hermione moved the flames toward Harry, who had completely succumbed to the vines and was now only a green lump on the floor. When the vines finally withdrew, Harry lay prone on the ground for several moments, taking deep, gasping breaths.

"At least that wasn't horrible," Draco said sarcastically.

Harry stood slowly. "Glad one of us paid attention in herbology." Harry looked around the chamber—there was only one door. "Onward, I guess."

The four students moved forward into the next room, finding it filled with hundreds of winged keys. In the middle of the room hovered several broomsticks. On the opposite wall was a single door with a large, ornate lock.

"Seems straightforward," said Draco. Before anybody could speak, Draco was aloft on a broom, chasing after keys in the air. Weasley followed quickly behind him, and Harry limped slowly toward the last broom. Granger, who had never liked flying class, stayed on ground.

"It's probably the key with the broken wing," Draco yelled. He and Weasley began chasing the key through the room. Harry, once he was aloft, joined them.

Weasley was the slowest flyer, but his turns were sharp and crisp. Harry was the fastest in a sprint, but he couldn't maneuver as well as Draco or Weasley. The key, however, was more agile than all of them. Worse, the closer the boys got to the broken-winged key, the closer the other keys flew in formation. Like a herd of zebras or a school of fish, it was almost impossible to focus on one particular key.

After several minutes of frantic flying, the boys had not caught the key.

"What now?" Weasley said.

Draco looked at Harry. "How about Harry flushes it out, Weasley corners it, and I come from below for the catch?"  
Harry nodded and began chasing the key around the room. Weasley lurked to one side, forcing the key to turn toward Harry. The flock of keys began to tighten up, protecting the broken key.

As the key passed above Draco, the blonde boy darted upward on his broom. Draco snatched at the key as he passed, but missed. The flock of keys exploded into chaos. Harry's eyes never lost track of the broken key, however. As the key twisted away from Draco, Harry darted forward and snatched it from the air.

Granger clapped and cheered as the three boys dropped to the floor.

"How'd you manage that catch?" Draco said, astonished.

Harry shrugged. "Beginner's luck, I guess."

Harry unlocked the door and the four students stepped into the next room. They found themselves on the edge of a massive chessboard. Enormous chess pieces stood at on the board like silent sentinels. White was nearest, and black stood by the opposite door.

"Neat," said Draco flippantly. "Let's go." As Draco stepped onto the board, the spire-shaped bishop his square dissolved into dust. Draco moved to step forward onto a pawn's space and instead smashed his face against an invisible wall. Draco fell backwards onto the floor, where he sat and rubbed his nose. "What the hell was that?"

Weasley's eyes went wide. "It wasn't a legal move. We have to play ourselves across." Weasley began shouting orders, directing Granger and Harry to play as rooks, and taking the place of a knight himself. Weasley was confident in his actions, moving pawns and pieces around the board with authority. Harry recognized that Weasley had significant experience playing chess, and deferred to the Gryffindor. Draco apparently recognized this, as well, and stayed sullenly quiet throughout the majority of the game.

White, under Weasley's control, took the first pawn. A white knight moved up and over, attacking the smaller black pawn. The knight came alive as it moved, raising its arms and crushing the black pawn to pieces.

"That's rather awful," said Harry. "What happens if one of us gets taken?"

Weasley's face had gone white. "Let's not find out."

Weasley's directions became more careful. He took longer and longer to deliberate between moves. Harry could see, even from across the room, that Weasley had broken into a sweat.

"Okay, that's it," shouted Weasley. "We've won the game!"

Harry looked around, but nothing happened. The king wasn't in checkmate. "Looks like we're still playing," Harry said.

"There's a mating pattern," Weasley said. "We're guaranteed checkmate in three moves. Normally, the opponent concedes at this point."

Draco looked around darkly. "Doesn't look like concession is part of this game. Just win it, and we'll go on."

"You're not going to like this, Malfoy," Weasley said. "You have to sacrifice yourself."

"What!?"

"I do, too! It's the mating pattern, checkmate in three moves. I put the king in check. They have to take my piece, or they lose. Then you put the king in check by moving there." Weasley pointed at a spot on the board. "They have to take your piece, or they lose. But then they're cornered. Harry moves three spaces up, puts the king in check, and nothing can take his piece or get in the way. Checkmate, we win the game."

Draco shook his head. "This is stupid! I'm not getting myself attacked by some giant chess piece for a lark!" Draco moved to leave the chess board, but again found himself trapped at the edge of his square. He pounded on the invisible wall with his fist. "Let me out!"

"That's not a legal move, Draco," said Weasley quietly. "We're in this to the end."

Draco turned to Harry. "This is what Gryffindor gets you."

Weasley slowly stepped forward. "Check," he announced. A black rook responded, sliding forward and striking Weasley in the head. Weasley collapsed, and the black chess piece tossed his limp body to the edge of the board. Weasley tried to stand up, but fell to his hands and knees and vomited.

Draco stormed onto the square Weasley had previously indicated. "Check," he snapped. A pawn slid diagonally forward. Draco raised his hand to protect his head, and the pawn punched him in the ribs. Draco clutched his side and staggered across the board, collapsing next to Weasley.

Harry advanced three spaces. "Checkmate." The black king dissolved into dust, and the remaining black pieces froze in place. Harry tentatively walked forward, and found that the edges of his square were no longer blocked by the magical wall.

"Are you alright?" Harry yelled to Draco.

"No, not at all" said Draco, wincing as he spoke.

"What about Ron? He might have a concussion!" asked Granger.

"I'll keep an eye on the prat," said Draco angrily. "Just go. I'll be furious if I did that for nothing."

Granger and Harry looked at each other, then slowly walked through the next door. A familiar but repulsive smell assaulted their nostrils—the rank scent of troll. The troll lay in the middle of the room, unconscious with a large lump on its head.

"That was easy," said Harry. "Let's be quick about it."

Harry and Granger dashed across the room and through the next door. In the middle of the next room was a table, and on the table sat seven bottles and a piece of parchment. As Harry and Gragner moved into the room, the door slammed behind them. Giant purple flames erupted from the floor between them and the door.

"No going back," Harry said. Harry turned to look at the opposite door just in time to see black flames ignite in front of it, barring their progress.

"No going forward, either," said Granger.

The students approached the table. A riddle was written on the piece of parchment, giving small hints about the contents of the bottles: three were poison, which would incapacitate a thief; two were wine, which would subsequent attempts at solving the riddle more difficult; one was a potion to move through the black flames; and one was a potion to move backward through the purple.

"It's not even magic," Granger said. "It's logic, just like the chess set. So many wizards don't have an ounce of common sense…"

Harry nodded. "Good thing we're muggle raised, right?"

"Right." Granger leaned forward and began considering the bottles. Harry did the same, re-reading the riddle several times.

Harry and Granger stood up and pointed at the smallest bottle. "That one," they said in unison. They turned to one another and smiled.

Harry lifted the bottle and shook it. "There's only enough for one."

"Potter. Er, Harry. I've been thinking. Ron and I came here to stop Snape." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Hermione held up her hand to stop him. "Whether it's Snape or someone else, Ron and I didn't know what Fluffy was guarding. Whoever is on the other side of that door would probably do anything to get the Philosopher's Stone."

_A wizard who is willing to do anything to get what he wants_…

"You don't have to go. I'll do it," Harry said. "Whoever it is, they shouldn't be stealing from Dumbledore and Hagrid."

"That's not what I meant," said Granger. "Maybe we should go get Professor McGonnegal. All of us."

Harry shook his head. "Going to McGonnegal didn't work earlier tonight, and it won't work now. You should take the escape potion. Use the brooms from the flying key room to get up to the trap door and past Fluffy. Take Draco and Ron to the hospital wing, and tell a professor that I'm still down here. That'll get the staff here fast, if they think I'm in danger."

"Harry, they won't just _think_ you're in danger. You'll _actually_ be in danger."

Harry smiled. "I'll rely on my Slytherin cunning to keep me safe."

Granger nodded, then darted forward. She hugged Harry tightly. "Thank you for Halloween," she whispered. She stepped back and quickly drank the other potion. "I'll be back with help. Good luck."

Harry watched as Hermione stepped through the purple flames before he turned to face the final door. He raised his bottle to his lips and swallowed deeply. The potion coursed through his body like ice. Taking a last, deep breath, Harry stepped forward through the black flames.

* * *

**A/N****:** _Only one more chapter left! Tune in next week for the dramatic conclusion!_

_Thanks to my reviewers, and I hope everybody got my review responses._


	7. Chapter 7

As Harry stepped into the final room, Harry was surprised to see the Mirror of Erised standing in the center. Even more surprising was the figure staring into the mirror: Professor Quirrell.

"Professor?"

Without turning around, Quirrell waved his wand. Ropes appeared out of the air and bound Harry's arms tightly to his side. Stunned, Harry dropped his wand to the ground. Quirrell slowly turned.

"Potter. Rather surprising. I knew I was being followed, but I thought it would be Severus. That overgrown bat has been looming over my shoulder all year. But now, with Dumbledore in London, I have all the time in the world to seize the Philosopher's Stone."

Harry could feel a headache beginning to form, just from listening to Quirrell's words. Oddly, Quirrell's stutter seemed to have completely disappeared. The professor walked over to Harry and picked up Harry's wand from the ground.

"Professor Snape has been trying to stop you?" Harry was desperately processing the new information.

"He has been interfering all year. I almost had the Stone on Halloween when I released the troll into the school, but Snape recognized the distraction for what it was. He went directly to the third floor, and I couldn't even attempt to take the Stone. On top of it all, he didn't even get himself properly eaten by that enormous mutt."

Snape had been protecting the school. Harry knew that Granger and Weasley were wrong.

Quirrell began to stalk back and forth in front of the Mirror of Erised. "But now, here we are. No Snape, no Dumbledore, and Harry Potter helpless. This mirror is the key to finding the Stone, I know, but how? I see myself with the Stone, I see myself using it to make the Elixir of Life, and I see myself reviving my master. But how do I get the Stone!"

"Your master?"

Quirrell laughed. "Surely you must have realized by now. What better use for the Elixer of Life than to revive the Dark Lord Voldemort?"

Harry's eyes went wide. "Voldemort is dead. He died ten years ago."

"If you think that Voldemort is dead, you are truly a fool. My master is with me always." Quirrell turned back to the mirror. "Help me, master. Where is the Stone? Is it in the mirror? Must I break it?"

Harry was convinced that Quirrell had gone mad. Horrifically, a reedy, rasping voice responded to Quirrell's question. The source of the voice appeared to be Quirrell himself, but Harry could plainly see that the professor's lips were not moving.

"Use the boy…"

Quirrell walked past Harry, and used his thick-soled boot to kick Harry forward. Harry stumbled ahead, trying to catch his balance, and found himself standing directly in front of the mirror.

"What do you see, Potter? Tell me!"

Harry closed his eyes, squinting them shut with fear. Faced with a servant of Voldemort, Harry was desperate for help. He thought of the night his parents died, Halloween. He thought of his parents, and how they would have fought to protect him. He imagined them by his side, and wished for the thousandth time that his parents were still alive.

"Open your eyes, boy!" Quirrell struck the back of Harry's head, and Harry's eyes snapped open.

In the Mirror of Erised, Harry saw himself, older but not yet old, green eyes glinting. In his hand was the Philosopher's Stone. Harry's reflection waved his wand above the Stone. A mist flowed outward from the Stone, forming itself into two human silhouettes. The mist quickly gained color and substance, and Harry's reflection was soon flanked by the smiling forms of Lily and James Potter.

"I see… myself." Harry said. "And my parents."

Quirrell flicked his wand, and Harry was roughly shoved aside. "Useless."

The strange voice spoke again. "Bring the boy back… let me face him."

"But master," Quirrell said, "You are not yet strong enough!"

"Obey…"

"Yes, master." Quirrell began unwrapping his turban. When the last wrap was removed, Quirrell turned away from Harry. The back of Quirrell's head was hairless. Staring out from the back of Quirrell's head was a loathsome face: a slit-nose, scaly lips pressed into a thin line, and two malevolent eyes with vertical pupils. The face of Voldemort.

"Harry Potter… do you see what I have become? A shadow of myself, leading a cursed existence, subsisting on unicorn blood for these past months…" Voldemort took a rattling breath. "Your parents… you want to bring them back… A great feat of magic, requiring great power… I have that power… I can teach you that power… But I need the Stone, first…"

_Slytherin could make you great…_

For a moment, Harry's heart wavered. He glanced again at the mirror. His reflection was now standing next to a handsome young wizard with neatly combed hair. The other wizard's smile was brilliant, but it did not reach his eyes. Together, Harry and young Voldemort waved their wands, and Harry's parents quickly coalesced out of mist.

_Trapped by its lies…_

Harry ripped his eyes away from the mirror. "No," Harry said. "You killed them. You're the reason I need to bring them back. I don't want your power. I'll find my own."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw the image in the mirror change yet again. Now, young Voldemort was lying on the ground, facing upward. Harry's reflection stood over Voldemort, wand pointed at Voldemort's heart. In the mirror, Harry's eyes flashed bright green, and he drew back his wand to cast a spell.

Voldemort's rasping voice spoke to Quirrell: "He is of no use. Kill Potter."

Harry spun. As Quirrell raised his wand, Harry leapt at the older wizard's arm, desperate to stop Quirrell from casting a spell. Harry's arms were still bound, but the impact knocked the wand out of Quirrell's hands. As Quirrell's wand clattered across the floor, the ropes binding Harry fell away. Quirrell and Harry began struggling, and Harry felt a blinding pain in his head, coming directly from his scar.

Quirrell pushed Harry back, but his hands came away from Harry's body black and charred. "What is this?" Quirrell asked. "What is this magic?"

Voldemort's voice hissed at Quirrell. "The wand, you fool!"

Quirrell scuttled across the ground, desperately reaching for his wand. Harry leapt at the wand as well, bumping into Quirrell. As they scrambled toward the wand, bumping and jostling each other, pain lanced through Harry's skull each time they touched. Quirrell was screaming; bits and pieces of his arms and torso were blackening and burning every time he touched Harry. Finally, with one desperate push, Quirrell lunged forward and grasped the wand.

Harry was operating purely on instinct. He leapt on top of Quirrell's back. Staring into the snakelike face of Voldemort, Harry grabbed the sides of Quirrell's head. Quirrell's screams began again. Harry shut his eyes tight and began screaming, as well. At first, Harry's hands met resistance, but the resistance quickly crumbled away. Soon, Harry's palms touched. Quirrell's screaming had stopped.

Harry opened his eyes. He was kneeling in a pile of ashes.

There was a blazing pain in Harry's scar, and the room went black. Harry collapsed to the floor.

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

When Harry awoke, he found himself in a bed in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore was sitting by his side.

"Professor! The Philosopher's Stone!"

"It is safe, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "I have you to thank for that. And Mr. Malfoy, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley, of course."

"You-Know-Who was trying to take the Stone," said Harry.

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspected as much. Once I arrived in London, I realized that I had made a grave error. Although Hogwarts was in the capable hands of Professor McGonnegal, I can say without hesitation that I am the only wizard whom Voldemort has ever feared. I returned to Hogwarts as quickly as possible, and was led to you by Ms. Granger."

"What happened?" asked Harry.  
"I was prepared to ask you the same thing," Dumbledore said with a smile. "If you can tell me the 'what,' Harry, I might be able to tell you the 'why.'"

Harry related his experience with Voldemort and Quirrell. As he told his story, Harry realized that he didn't want to tell Dumbledore what he saw in the mirror. Harry simply said that he saw his family again.

Dumbledore nodded and considered Harry's tale. "Harry, you are protected by a powerful magic that Voldemort does not understand. It led to his defeat on Halloween ten years ago, and it led to his undoing at Hogwarts today."

"What is it, Professor?"

"Blood magic, Harry, but born of love. It is a powerful and ancient magic, brought about when your mother died to protect you. Her last act was an act of great selflessness, giving herself to certain death rather than allowing you to be harmed. The bond of blood and love between a mother and a child is strong. And while Voldemort may understand the power of blood, Harry, he has no capacity to understand love.

"Upon your mother's death, her love caused her magic to traverse the blood bond between you. Her magic protected you that night, and continues to do so. Indeed, it is so powerful that your mere touch was able to defeat Voldemort today."

"Will Voldemort be back?"

"I'm afraid so, Harry. I have long suspected that Voldemort's return was only a matter of time. Unfortunately, it seems I was right."

Harry was silent for a moment. "How did Voldemort possess Quirrell?"

"Professor Quirrell spent a large portion of last summer in the forests of Albania," Dumbledore said. "I now believe that Professor Quirrell succumbed to the darkest of magics in that forest, and has been bound to Voldemort ever since. A tragedy, for he was a good man."

"Why couldn't Voldemort retrieve the Philosopher's Stone?"

Dumbledore chucked. "I enchanted the Mirror of Erised to conceal the Stone. Anybody who wanted to use the stone would see themselves drinking the elixir of life, or some other variant on that theme." Harry's thoughts immediately went to the images of his resurrected parents he had seen in the mirror.

"However," Dumbledore said, "a person who wanted to merely possess the Stone would see themselves with the stone being placed in their pocket. Thus, the only person who could retrieve the Philosopher's Stone was a person who wanted the Stone, but did not want to use it. This naturally disqualifies most thieves." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Rather ingenious, if I do say so."

Harry agreed—it was an incredible protection. If you were a thief and wanted the Stone for yourself, you would want to use the Stone, and would be unable to remove it. If you hired a thief to steal the Stone for you, the thief would know that he could make more money by taking the Stone and using it for himself—again, the thief would want to use the stone, and would be unable to remove it. And if you hired a thief to steal the Stone but didn't tell the thief what he was stealing, the thief would never see himself removing the Stone at all. Only somebody truly innocent could remove the Stone.

"Harry, I must ask you to keep Voldemort's return to yourself. Or, rather, between you and me. The wizarding world would be thrown into chaos if news of his return were to become generally known."

"Of course. We'll just say it was Professor Quirrell, then?"

"I do not like the idea, because Quirinus was a good friend. However, I believe it would be best." Dumbledore stood. "I should excuse myself, Harry. Your friends are outside and they are eager to speak with you. You need waste no more time on a doddering old man. If you would grant me one last indulgence, however…" Dumbledore reached to Harry's bedside table, where a pile of candy and Get Well cards had begun to accumulate. Dumbledore plucked a yellow candy from a small bag. "I am unusually fond of lemon drops."

_Lemon drops?_

Dumbledore popped the candy into his mouth and began walking out of the hospital wing.

Harry called out. "Professor, wait!"

Dumbledore turned.

"What do you know about invisibility cloaks?" Harry asked.

"Quite the non sequitur, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Much of what I know about invisibility cloaks I owe to your father. Your father once loaned me an extraordinary invisibility cloak." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "I cannot precisely remember what has become of it, but I imagine that it is being put to good use."

Harry grinned. "I imagine so, sir."

Dumbledore turned once more to leave the hospital wing, but paused just before opening the door. His voice was grave, and he spoke without turning around. "I wonder, Harry, why the Mirror of Erised did not bestow the Philosopher's Stone upon you. If your goal was to prevent the theft of the Philosopher's Stone, thereby to thwarting Voldemort's resurrection, you would not have wanted to use the Stone. You would have wished to possess the Stone to prevent its use. And yet, the Stone remained locked in the mirror."

Dumbledore turned slightly, so that Harry could see only the corner of his wrinkled eyes. "Why did you want to use the Philosopher's Stone, Harry?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Doesn't everybody wish to be immortal?"

"Death is but the next great adventure," Dumbledore said. "Think on that, if you will. Consider it a summer assignment. Or, perhaps, a favor to me. No exams will be given on the subject."

As Dumbledore left, Pansy Parkinson came dashed into the hospital wing, followed more slowly by Draco Malfoy.

Pansy sprinted to Harry's side. "You're all Slytherin is talking about, Harry. The whole _school_ is talking about you."

Draco crossed his arms. "Apparently, being a sacrificial pawn in a giant game of Wizard's Chess doesn't carry the same heft as dueling and defeating our own Defense teacher for possession of priceless magical artifacts."

"You weren't a pawn, Draco. You were a bishop."

Draco snorted. "I was clobbered in the ribs, is what I was."

"Harry," Pansy said, "You're famous! More famous than before!"

"Fame isn't everything," said Harry, thinking back to Snape's words at the beginning of the semester. All the fame in the world wouldn't bring back his parents.

"It might not be everything," Pansy said, "but it is something. When you get back to Slytherin, we're throwing you a party. Defending Hogwarts while Dumbledore was in London—you and Draco are absolute heroes!"

"I bet Snape is thrilled with that," said Harry.

Pansy ignored him. "Make sure to sit by me at dinner tonight, I want to hear everything! Oh my gosh, I have to go choose something to wear!" With those words, Pansy dashed out of the hospital wing.

Draco remained, but stood several steps from Harry's bedside. "Is it true?" Draco asked. "Did you really defeat Quirrell?"

Harry nodded. "He almost knocked me cold at the end. Gave me the second-worst headache of my life."

"Wow. My Dad will want to hear all about it. You should visit this summer. We can practice for Quidditch tryouts next year." Draco finally cracked a smile. "It'll be great."

"I'd really like that," Harry said. He really would.

*!*!*!*!*!*!

At the Year End Feast, the hall was decorated in the green and silver of Slytherin house. Snape sat at the head table without a smile on his face. It was as if he expected victory, so much so that it gave him no pleasure.

Dumbledore stood. "I would like to say a few words before the beginning of the feast. Recent events have given me cause to award a last few points.

"To Mr. Ronald Weasley. For the best game of chess that Hogwarts has seen in years, I award Gryffindor 200 points.

"To Ms. Hermione Granger. For excellent thinking under great pressure, I award Gryffindor 200 points."

With Weasley's award, Gryffindor had tied Slytherin for house points. With Granger's, Gryffindor led for the House Cup by 200. Dummbledore waved his wand, and the decorations changed from Slytherin green and silver to Gryffindor red and gold.

The cheer from the Gryffindor table was enormous. The majority of Slytherins had dropped their jaws in astonishment. Tracey Davis was standing on a bench and shaking her fist, shouting "It's not fair!"

Dumbledore smiled, and began to speak again.

"To Mr. Draco Malfoy." The entire hall went abruptly silent. "For unity with your classmates in the face of adversity, I award you 200 points.

"And finally, to Mr. Harry Potter. For special services to the school, and an enormous amount of bravery, I award you 200 points." The cheer from the Slytherin table was deafening. Dumbledore again waved his wand, and the decorations reverted to Slytherin colors.

"Now that all points are awarded, and my taste for drama satisfied, let the feast begin!"

At the head table, Minerva McGonnegal and Severus Snape both leaned over to speak to Dumbledore.

"That was a dirty trick," they said in unison. They immediately glared at one another.

Dumbledore chuckled, and helped himself to some pudding.

- THE END-

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**A/N:** _Those wacky Slytherins and Gryffindors. Maybe they're more alike than they think. _

_I always thought that Dumbledore was a bit of a jerk to the kids in Slytherin at the end of Philosopher's Stone. Snatching the house cup away and embarrassing them in front of the entire school? No wonder Draco hated Dumbledore in canon. Those Slytherin first years are only 11! This was not the best decision an educator has ever made._

_Beginning next Friday, I will be publishing Year Two, tentatively titled "Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin." (Terribly original, I know.) A new year for Harry and a new year for us. __Now is the time to favorite me as an author, if you want to be automatically updated. I'll probably post a brief teaser chapter here (to be removed after a week or two) to remind everybody of the new story._


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Harry Potter and the Slytherin Selection_ is complete. Thanks to all my readers and special thanks to all my reviewers. Here is a sneak preview of the first chapter of _Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin_. Check out my profile for the link—the first chapter is up today!_

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_Harry Potter and the Heir of Slytherin – Sneak Preview!_

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Harry knew that it wouldn't be long before Draco and Mr. Malfoy arrived to take him away from the Dursleys. At the end of term, Harry and Draco had arranged for Harry to spend almost half the summer with the Malfoys. Harry had neglected to inform the Dursleys of these plans, trusting Mr. Malfoy to set things right upon his arrival. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, Harry thought. Mr. Malfoy was scheduled to pick up Harry three days after Harry's birthday.

That day was today.

Harry was shoving the last of his belongings into his trunk when he heard a muffled "pop" from the front of the house.

"Petunia! What did you break now?" roared Vernon Dursley.

Before Harry's Aunt Petunia could answer, there was a knock on the front door. Harry could hear his Uncle Vernon grumbling as he lumbered from the sitting room to the foyer.

"We don't want any of your vacuums," Vernon bellowed immediately after opening the door.

Harry strained to hear the reply. He could recognize Mr. Malfoy's voice, but the words were too soft to understand.

"Come for Harry? That boy is upstairs, and that's where he will stay."

Mr. Malfoy spoke again, this time with a slight edge in his voice.

"Oh, you're one of those rotters. He's never going back to that school again. You and your lot have been nothing but a nuisance, and England would be better off without you. Good day."

Harry heard a whip-like crack and a large thump. Harry could see it in his mind: his Uncle Vernon, who had been a boxer fifteen years and fifty pounds ago, punching out Mr. Malfoy and tossing his limp body onto the lawn. Suddenly, Harry's failure to inform the Dursleys of his plans seemed like a terrible idea.

Harry heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps—one heavy, one light. His Aunt and Uncle, coming to exact some horrible punishment. Harry backed away from the door.

There was a click as his door unlocked. Harry climbed onto his bed, pushing himself as far away from the door as possible.

The door swung open…


End file.
